The Proposal
by SellyDHBru
Summary: Interesting things happen when one is drunk and is forced to spend time in the presence of his arch-nemesis… Secrets are discovered, mysteries unveiled and could the impossible be possible after all? There is only one way to find out…
1. Chapter 1

**Author:** Selly (_Selly87_) & Bru (_dracosoftie_)  
**Title:** The Proposal  
**Fandom:** Harry Potter  
**Pairing:** Harry / Draco  
**Rating:** Definitely Adult  
**Summary:** Interesting things happen when one is drunk and is forced to spend time in the presence of his arch-nemesis… Secrets are discovered, mysteries unveiled and could the impossible be possible after all? There is only one way to find out…  
**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Warning:** Explicit language, Smut, Bondage  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 1:**

**~Draco's POV, a ministry function~**

There he is. Looking all smug and smiling for all that he's worth. Merlin, I just want to draw my wand and hex him off that podium. He makes me sick. So very sick. He and his little vermin Gryffindor friends. All of them. I can actually feel my stomach turn as I listen to him, standing there in his black robes, reading out the speech Kingsley wrote for him. They aren't his words and all those idiots in the room here are too damn stupid to realize that. They're hanging to his every word, like he's a god! Can't they see that he's just a stupid Gryffindork with even less of a brain than a flobberworm? Obviously not.

Those twats have no brains – they couldn't even think for themselves even if their lives depended on it. The war showed that quite clearly. And now they're making him their hero – they're even talking about a Harry Potter Day to honor him. Merlin, if that happens I think I will actually end up being physically sick, possibly all over him as well. I don't know how much more of this farce I can take. If it wasn't for my mother's iron grip on my shoulder, I'd be out of here already. But as it is, I've got to stand here and listen to the nonsense that's coming out of Potter's mouth. Ugh! Someone please Stupefy me – this is too much for any sane person to bear.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 2:**

**~Harry's POV, the same ministry function~  
**  
If it weren't for the glares Hermione keeps sending my way I'd have been out of here the moment that god awful speech ended. What Kingsley thinks this will accomplish is beyond me, but if it helps him in his bid for re-election I suppose it's my duty to help. I take a drink of the sickeningly sweet punch someone has shoved into my hand and barely conceal a grimace. What I wouldn't give for it to be a nice tall Firewhisky instead. And now I'm standing around like an exhibit in the zoo, shaking hands and listening to some old witch blubber on about what a great service I've done for the wizarding world.

And by the way, have I seen her daughter who's standing just over there? She'd be happy to introduce me. I smile politely and try to reclaim my hand from the witch's surprisingly firm grip. I just want to go home and get drunk, my usual Friday night routine. I scan the ballroom constantly, a throwback to my war-honed instincts, I suppose. I log no threats, aside from witches trying to push their daughters on me, but I do notice the Malfoys standing against the back wall. It's surprising they're even here, since Lucius had his final sentencing for Azkaban yesterday. I watch them impassively, wondering what they could possibly hope to gain by attending this gala.

It's the fifth anniversary of Voldemort's defeat, which makes it an odd choice for Mrs. Malfoy and her son to be making their official re-entry into society. Stupid blond prat. Standing over there and looking so smug and cold, as though he has every right to be here. He has no right to be here. None at all. And fuck it all if he doesn't manage to be the most handsome wizard here. He makes it look as though he's spent the last year on some exotic holiday instead of on house arrest at Malfoy Manor – Lucius Malfoy's final gift to his son when the bastard realized that the Wizengamot wouldn't grant his pardon – which I know he has. I checked his parole records myself. Out of contempt, of course. Not because I actually have any interest in the wanker.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 3:**

**~Draco's POV, ministry function, later that night~**

My wand hand is itching so badly, I really won't be able to restrain myself any longer. This is torture. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be gawked at by everyone around. If I didn't love Mother as much as I do, I'd strangle her for accepting the Ministry's invitation to this gala. This is the worst day of my life, I think. House arrest at Malfoy Manor was ten million times better than this – I'd happily do another year of that if it means I get to turn on my heel and leave this gala with the little bit of dignity that I still own. At Malfoy Manor I at least have my peace. I can relax, I can by myself, and I don't have to justify my being alive and part of today's wizarding society.

I can go about my studies and I don't have to explain myself to anyone. Mother leaves me alone most of the time – thank Merlin. And ugh! Why is _he_ staring at me? Can't he just turn around and mind his own business? Does he always have to stick his nose into matters that do not concern him? I hate that ridiculous smirk on his face. It makes me want to stalk across the dance floor and slap him.

Yes, I want to slap Harry fucking Potter. The Muggle way. I want to lash out and slap the back of my hand hard across his cheek. It's what he deserves. Maybe it'll wipe that forced grin off his face for good. Oh... just the thought of that… I can practically feel the blood surge through my whole body, egging me on. If it wasn't for the fact that I know how to behave in public – unlike others not worth naming – I'd actually give into the temptation. Sometimes I really do wonder what it would feel like to be able to let go like that. It would, without a doubt, bring great relief.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 4:**

**~Harry's POV, one year later, another ministry function~  
**  
Another Ministry function, another reason to drown myself in alcohol. At least the Ministry's taste liquor has improved since Kingsley's re-election. No more mystery punch, which I am eternally grateful for as I toss back my third Firewhisky of the night. Another year, another anniversary, another gala. Though unlike last year, I haven't caught sight of that pointy-faced ferret this year. I force a smile on my face as Hermione squeezes my arm, pulling me back into the present. She's introducing me to foreign dignitaries, part of her job as the new assistant to the Undersecretary for International Affairs, I assume. No doubt her friendship with me is what landed her that job, though I'm tactful enough – or is it simply that I'm relatively sober at the moment? – not to point that out.

It seems that everyone but me has found a way to profit off the great Harry Potter. Ron's steamrolling his way through the Auror program on my coat tails, Hermione's got a fancy Ministry job – hell, even Malfoy has cashed in. Rumor has it some big publishing firm is paying him – him! – to write an unbiased account of the Second Voldemort War. I nearly snort into my drink, which would have been a disgusting waste of Firewhisky. I expected him to be here tonight, at least on the pretence of interviewing war heroes. Or maybe I'm the only one he's been irritating with his constant owls for a meeting. As if I'd meet with him for any reason, let alone to talk about a war he fought against me in. I take another drink, realizing with displeasure that my glass is empty. Before I can summon a house-elf to refill it, Hermione's at my side again, tugging me across the room. Bloody fuck. Toward Malfoy.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 5:**

**~Draco's POV, still one year later, same function, later that night~**

Either I have had too much Firewhisky – which I highly doubt because I'm only on my second glass and I also have a sobering potion in my pocket – or the great Harry Potter is actually making his way over to me. Although wait. He's not actually making his way over here. He's being dragged over here. By none other than Granger. I know we have been civil with each other lately – circumstances,without a doubt – but I never thought she'd ever try to do me favor. Or maybe – and I suppose that's more like it – she's just sick of bloody Potter's moaning about the owls I've been sending him lately. He hasn't responded to even one of them – well, actually, that's a lie.

He responded to my last owl, politely telling me to – and I quote – 'sod the fuck off'. I must admit that response actually made me laugh when his owl delivered the response – I'd have expected nothing less from The Boy Who Lived To Be A Pain In The Fucking Butt. I really want to laugh at that thought, but I'm more civilized than this. Potter is only a few meters away from me, and judging by his body language and his desperate glances around the ballroom, he is looking for any excuse to escape the fact that he is about thirty seconds away from having to talk to me.

But you know what, Potter? This time... this time I've got you. This time you are not getting away. I'm going to relish in the fact that I'm going to be able to make your life a living hell for at least five minutes if you take two more steps towards me. I'm going to be as sweet as fuck to you – you won't know what hit you, my dear Potter boy. Because, unlike you, I have learned my lesson. I may not like you, in fact I actually hate you with passion, but I can act, I can act very well. And you know that... which just makes it even more of a pleasure to drive you up the wall.

"Malfoy," My thoughts are interrupted by Potter's greeting, which he managed to force through his gritted teeth. Granger instantly shoves her elbow between Potter's ribs and I can only barely contain a smirk as I watch Potter yelp and turn his head sideways to send a death-glare at Granger. My... I'm actually astounded. Potter's learned something. He's learned how to glare, and I'm even going to go as far as admitting that he's almost as good as me.

"Potter. It's a pleasure to finally meet you…again." I smile and stretching my hand out, I wait for Potter to take it and shake it. Merlin... you've no idea how long I've waited for this moment. I wish someone could snap a picture of us shaking hands so I can savor this moment for all eternity. Where is Rita Skeeter when you need her?

"I'd have to lie if I was to say the same." Potter replies with a sneer that is – damn it! – worthy of a Malfoy.

"Harry James Potter - behave yourself!" Granger snarls, and Harry quickly takes a step to the side to avoid possibly getting acquainted with Granger's elbow for the second time in as many minutes.

"It's fucking Malfoy!" Potter snaps at Granger, who just rolls her eyes, and despite my best efforts, I find myself chuckling. If little Miss-Know-It-All – or should I say 'Mrs.-To-Be-Know-It-All'? – wasn't so smitten with that Weasel, she'd actually make Potter's perfect wife – she's without a doubt the only one who can put The Git into his rightful place at the bottom of a garbage pile.

"You're such a child, Harry," Granger sighs, and I actually pity her. Mind you, I pity anyone who's forced to endure Potter's company for longer than five minutes.

"I agree with Granger, Potter. You are ridiculously childish," I say, and Potter shoots me such an icy glare that it would've made me stumble backward had I not invented said glares.

"And you are the most annoying person I've ever had the displeasure to meet."

"I see. You have polished up on your vocabulary, Potter." I smirk and The Git looks like he's about to draw his wand and hex me through the nearest window.

"Okay Malfoy, here's the deal. Since I've no other option but to allow you to ruin my evening," Potter pauses and for emphasis he glares at Granger, who shrugs and looks mildly amused. "I suggest we make this quick so I can try to salvage what's left of my ruined evening. Terrace. You have five minutes and not a second longer."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 6:**

**~Harry's POV, next morning~**

The first thing I register is the pounding pain in my temples. It feels like an entire herd of hippogriffs are running loose inside my skull. I'm no stranger to a hangover, but something definitely feels different about this morning. I turn over, bracing myself to open my eyes in the dim light of my bedroom when realization strikes. I can feel the slide of silk sheets against my skin, which means I'm naked. And most definitely not in my own bed.

My eyes snap open, heedless of the pain as I take in my surroundings. I'm instantly on my guard, grabbing for my wand. I panic when it's not under my pillow where I usually keep it as I sleep – but then again, this isn't my pillow. I'm nearly startled out of my skin when a familiar and grating voice calls to me from across the room. My heart races as I blink against the blurriness, cursing myself for not allowing Hermione to brew that Vision Correction Potion for me. At the time it seemed like an unnecessary risk, but right now, as I face my arch nemesis as blind and naked as a newborn, I can definitely see the argument for it.

Seconds later both my wand and my glasses are in my hand. I shove the frames on my face – vowing that this will be the last morning I ever do so – and blink in surprise at the sight in front of me. Not only has Malfoy returned my wand without so much as a taunt, he's also had the house-elves bring in breakfast. A purple vial of Hangover Potion sits next to the steaming pot of tea, and I gulp it down without a second thought. A rough chuckle draws my attention, and my muscles instantly tense. Malfoy's still here, wrapped in a blue, silk dressing gown and perched on the edge of the bed.

"Potter," he says with a smirk, inclining his head.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 7:**

**Draco's POV, same morning, a bit later**

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME YOU SLIMY GIT!"

I smirk as Potter yells so loudly that the vase with the fresh flowers, Mother brought in from the garden, on the other side of the room, shakes and dutifully raise my hands when Potter points his wand at me.

"Now, now, Potter, there's no need for this kind of hostility," I chide, but my voice is soft and gentle. It's more of a drawl. Opening my palms, I hold them out together Potter, showing him that I don't bear anything in them that could possibly harm him in any way.

"WHERE THE FUCK AM I? WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE, MALFOY? ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY OUT OF YOUR FREAKING MIND? DID IT OCCUR TO YOU THAT HALF THE GUESTS AT THE GALA LAST NIGHT SAW ME ACCOMPANY YOU TO THE TERRACE? THERE'S NO FUCKING WAY YOU'LL GET AWAY WITH KIDNAPPING ME, YOU..."

When Potter pauses to fill his lungs with oxygen, I throw my head back and laugh heartily – I just can't resist. This is too good to be true. I did suspect Potter having a raging fit about being taken to Malfoy Manor by me, but I didn't actually expect that he would be stupid enough to suspect I kidnapped him.

"What's so fucking funny, _Malfoy_?" Potter snarls. Sobering up slightly, I straighten my back and ignoring Potter's wand, which is still pointing at my chest, I place my hands in my lap.

"What's funny is that of all the things you could've presumed, you go and think I've kidnapped you," I say, and just the thought makes me bite my lip to suppress a smile.

"What else should I presume, you ferret! It's bloody obvious that you're holding me hostage against my will."

I sigh. "Potter. If I wanted to hold you hostage, you would be tied to the wall in the Dungeons with a gag in your mouth and a Silencing Charm on the chamber. However you, Potter, are in the Green Room, one of the guest rooms at Malfoy Manor. I brought you here last night because you were pissed out of your mind and despite my best efforts it was impossible to get you to tell me where you reside these days," I calmly explain and incline my head slightly, silently thanking Potter for having the decency to lower his wand.

"I wouldn't tell you where I live even if you were to use the Cruciatus Curse on me," Potter spits.

"I've no intention of using an Unforgivable Curse on anyone, Potter," I smile. "Hence the reason for your presence at Malfoy Manor. Is my explanation satisfactory?"

"Where are my clothes?" Potter asks and crossing his arms over his chest he glares at me like a petulant child who received a magical book for Christmas instead of a miniature broomstick.

"I handed them to the house-elves to have them cleaned after you puked all over yourself upon our arrival at Malfoy Manor," I state, and even though I'm really itching to add a snide remark, to make fun of the ridiculous sight of a puking and pissed Potter, I refrain. I'll get my chance, I'm sure.

"Give them back to me. I want to leave. _NOW!_" Potter snaps and scrambling out of the four-poster bed, he drags the silk sheet with him and firmly tugs it around his body, covering himself up. It's a shame really. Potter doesn't even look so bad naked. He's got a good body. I doubt he knows that, though.

"Why don't you have breakfast first?" I ask politely and motion towards the breakfast my faithful house-elf brought up two minutes before Potter began to stir.

"I said I want my clothes. I want to leave!" Potter snarls, and shrugging I get to my feet and call for my house-elf.

"Fine, have it your way, Potter. Since you have more pressing matters to attend to than breakfast, I shall not hold you up any longer. My humble apologies for attempting to be a good host…"

"I'm not particularly fond of your presence, Malfoy," Potter snaps, and he's glaring daggers again. Seriously… that man needs a good hard fuck! He's too tense for his own good.

"Would you like to eat your breakfast alone?" I offer.

"_I want my clothes._ Are you fucking deaf, Malfoy?"

"There's no need to be so edgy, Potter. Really. Relax," I sigh and rounding the bed, I walk up to Potter, who automatically backs away from me, until his haunches hit the wall. "How about we make a deal?" I suggest, and Potter purses his lips. I do not need to look to know that he's tightened his hold on his wand and is currently racking his brain for a suitable spell. "Join me for breakfast and I will tell you exactly what happened last night… I'm sure you're dying to know…" I tease and smile smugly when I catch a flutter of fear in Potter's vibrant green eyes. But Potter's good in hiding behind a glamour – his true feelings about my suggestion are concealed quicker than a wizard can unarm another wizard.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 8:**

**Harry's POV, that evening**

I sit with my head cradled in my hands to hide the hot flush on my cheeks. Though I told Hermione it was from anger, I'm actually not so sure myself. She came over the moment I got back from Malfoy Manor, full of apologies for not going with us to the bar in London I'd apparently demanded to visit with Malfoy the night before.

My cheeks burn against my forearms as Hermione confirms everything Malfoy has told me over our late breakfast. She'd forced me to talk to him at the gala. He'd been disgustingly polite and I'd proceeded to get disgustingly drunk in response. Her timeline and his diverge after that, but she did corroborate his story about leaving the Ministry and going to a bar being my idea. My very _stupid_ idea.

"And you woke up there all alone?" Though I can't see her, I know Hermione's lower lip is nearly gnawed through; it will be bleeding soon if she doesn't stop biting at it.

"Not exactly," I answer, my words muffled by my arms but still perfectly understandable.

"No!" Hermione gasps and I risk a peek out of the safety of my arms. She looks…intrigued. Not disgusted.

"Not exactly," I say again, my voice weaker this time. I feel her tug against my shoulders, trying to pull me upright. There's no way I can get out of telling her all about what transpired last night and – oh God, this morning – and part of me doesn't even want to try. Don't Muggles have a saying about confession being good for the soul?

"Apparently I offered to let him interview me in exchange for sexual favors," I mutter, bracing myself for her cries of indignation. When none come, I sit up straight and look at her. She looks far from outraged. If anything, her expression is expectant.

"We didn't," I say quickly, and is that a flicker of disappointment I see in her eyes? "Malfoy says I passed out after vomiting on myself rather spectacularly just a few minutes after I made the offer."

Hermione nods, raising her wand and Conjuring tea for us. I take a grateful sip, stalling as long as possible before continuing. Of course, she sees right through me. She wouldn't be my best friend if she didn't.

"I didn't believe him at first," I say, and it's true. It wasn't until The Git actually let me get in a few good hexes that I realized he wasn't lying. "But then, after, we … talked. It was surprising. _He_ is surprising."

Hermione nods, sipping at her tea thoughtfully, and not for the first time I wish I could see inside her mind. Why isn't she screaming at me for professing an apparent sexual interest, no matter how buried, in Malfoy? She and Ron have taken the news that I am gay fairly well, but so far I've never really introduced them to anyone I date or went out with, nothing more than a quick hello as I hustled the guys out the next morning. Ron jokes that my flat has a revolving door for slim blond men –

I choke on my tea, the scalding liquid running down my chin and pooling on silk shirt Malfoy insisted I borrow this morning, my own clothes having been ruined beyond repair. I hardly notice, caught up in the images that flash before my horrified eyes. My interest in one night stands with pale, blond wizards. The way seeing Malfoy in public always makes my blood boil. Me practically begging him for sex the night before. Oh holy fuck! I'm attracted to _Malfoy. _

"He kissed me," I hear myself tell Hermione, my pulse still racing from the revelation that I actually _do_ want to shag _Malfoy_. That propositioning him hadn't been just some drunken farce. "This morning, before I Flooed away. He leaned in and _kissed_ me."

Hermione smiles from across the table, not surprised in any way. I wonder how long she's known I had a thing for Malfoy and why she'd never bothered to tell _me._

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 9:**

**Draco's POV, three days later, Saturday evening**

"I didn't think you'd actually open the door," I say, a bit astonished as Potter opens the front door to his flat after I've knocked for the second time.

"That's because I'm not predictable," Potter answers and stepping aside he motions for me to come in.

"Thanks," I smile genuinely. "I brought you something," I add and offer a bottle of well-aged Firewhisky.

Potter's reaction is almost adorable. He crooks his head to the side, eyes the bottle suspiciously and then looks at me for a good minute before remembering that he hasn't closed the front door. "If you think that I'll allow you to get me drunk, Malfoy, then you've thought wrong," Potter states and turning on his heel he faces me.

"Shame. You're particularly talkative when you've had a few," I smile.

"Don't remind me," Potter groans. "Come on. I don't usually entertain my guests in the hallway," he says and ushers me into his living room where he offers me a seat.

"Thanks," I say and sitting down on the comfortable, beige couch, I put the bottle of Firewhisky onto the coffee table in front of the couch. I shrug out of my coat and neatly place it over the back of the couch; I lean back, cross my legs and look around the room, taking in the interior. Everything matches. The bookshelves, the cabinet – with what Muggles call a flat-screen TV, I believe, and the coffee table appear to be a set – they're ash wood, a good choice. The two arm chairs and the couch match the color of the carpet – beige – and it looks so soft that I'm almost itching to slip my foot out of my shoe and run my toes over the soft fabric. The walls have been painted in a very faint lilac and all the framed photographs are magical. Mostly there are pictures of Potter's parents, though there're also plenty of Granger and the Weasel family. All in all the room looks very homely and the atmosphere is warm. It's a cozy place to be in – I'll admit that and it doesn't even make my cringe saying that. I can be honest.

"Hermione did the decorating," Potter says and placing two whisky glasses on the coffee table, he lets himself fall onto the couch and kicking his slippers off he pulls his legs onto the seat and curls up in the corner opposite me. "This place is only temporary anyway while my house is being done up."

"And I was just about to make you a compliment." I roll my eyes at Potter.

"Why are you here, Malfoy?" Potter asks, abruptly changing the topic.

"Why do you think I'm here?" I answer Potter's question with another question and rolling his eyes, Potter leans forward, reaches for the bottle of Firewhisky and opens it. He pours a very generous amount into each of the two glasses and lifting them both off the table, he offers me one. When he hands me the glass he makes damn sure I don't get a chance to brush my hand against his and it makes me smile. I know exactly why he's been avoiding me ever since that morning at Malfoy Manor. It's that kiss I gave him – he was just about to step into my Floo and leave when I allowed my instincts to take over and without thinking I simply kissed him. I have since tried to regret that move, but I find myself unable to do so. I have also made several attempts at sending Potter an owl with an explanation but I failed to find the right words, words Potter might understand. And it's taken me three days to pluck up the courage to go and see Potter… how pathetic is that? How very pathetic and un-Malfoy-like is that?

"I don't know." Potter shrugs, and I watch him take a sip from his Firewhisky. Without wanting to do so, I stare transfixed as he swallows the burning liquor. The sight is intoxicating and I have to blink a few times to drag myself back into the real world. Keep it together, Malfoy! I chide myself – my behavior is nauseating.

"Oh come on, Potter." I roll my eyes. Surprisingly it's very easy to keep a straight face.

"I've no idea what you're talking about," Potter says, and his nonchalant act actually makes me laugh.

"You're not dumb, you know damn well what I'm talking about, Potter. I want my interview," I say, and Potter splutters into his drink. His cheeks flush bright red and the only reason he's holding on to his whisky glass with both hands is because they'd be shaking like mad otherwise.

"You don't honestly think I actually meant a word of what I said that night, do you?" Potter frowns at me and I'm itching to do something so very stupid.

"That's irrelevant," I respond and deciding to throw all caution into the wind to see what happens I uncross my legs, lean forward and put my untouched drink down on the table. I pause for a moment before I turn to face Potter, who's intently watching my every move. His eyes open wide when I move closer and bracing myself inches from Potter's face, I breathe in and instantly find myself trying to fight off a dizzy spell when Potter's scent attacks my nostrils. Boy! That man smells too good for his own good! "So, what will it be, Potter? What do you charge for interviews these days?" I whisper, and Potter shudders visibly.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 10:**

**Harry's POV, that same night**

I'm not sure at what point I lost control of things, but as I watch Malfoy slide out of his robes I know the point is long past. It's just – he waltzes in, so superior and smug, with that stupid challenge of his, and I couldn't just let it go. I couldn't do the sensible thing and tell him to fuck off, or even the most logical thing and give him the interview he wants so he'll leave me alone.

No, I had to antagonize him. I had to tell him that he could be naked on his knees begging me and even then I'd never do the interview. And now his lightweight robes are pooled around him in stark contrast against my beige carpet, but my eyes are drawn back up as his pale fingers begin to unbutton the Muggle shirt he's wearing underneath. I try to make some sound of protest, anything that will make him stop, but my throat is suddenly too dry to speak. He keeps going, his grey eyes sparkling with something – challenge? amusement? – as the shirt joins his robes on the floor. My brain is screaming at me to stop this before it goes any further, but other parts of my anatomy are unquestionably interested in seeing it continue. When those pale fingers slide beneath the waistband of his trousers, removing the last barrier between him and total nudity, I try to raise my hands to stop him, but it feels like my arms are made of lead.

"Not even now, Potter?" he teases, totally unphased by his state of undress. He slips to his knees – somehow managing to look cool and elegant even in the pose of a supplicant, the bastard – and proceeds to utter all sorts of depraved promises for my cooperation. I feel myself blush as his suggestions become more and more lewd. Malfoy's describing things I'd never even thought _possible_, and I find myself transfixed by the sight of his rose-colored lips forming the words. Unbidden an image of those same lips wrapped around my cock springs to my mind, and I have to clench my jaw to keep from betraying my arousal with a sharp intake of breath.

"Alright," I say, my voice sounding hoarse and pained, even to my own ears. I see Malfoy blink in surprise. "I'll do the interview. On my terms, though. I choose the place and the time."

He sits back on his heels, giving me a view of his perfect cock. He's half-hard, the beginnings of what looks to be an impressive erection pushing proudly out of the nest of blond curls. I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze but carefully keeping my eyes above his shoulders.

"The interview?" I say again, waiting for any sign of recognition from him. It seems he's so caught up in his little game that he can't switch gears. Good. It's nice not to be the only one off balance for once.

I've never noticed how Malfoy's entire face lights up when he smiles. Thinking back, it may be because I've never seen a genuine smile on his face before. He stands, taking a step closer to me. Before I have the sense to back away, he's pulling me closer. My hands automatically wrap around his naked back as he steps in and startles me with a hard kiss. I find myself responding even though I don't want to, melting into his embrace and allowing his persistent tongue entrance into my mouth. We're both panting when he steps away, and a quick glance down confirms he's just as aroused as I am, his fully hard cock brushing my thigh as he retreats.

"The Leaky Cauldron," he says with a smirk as he shrugs into his clothes. Every movement is both casual and graceful and sends my pulse skyrocketing. "Thursday. 2 p.m. I'll have Tom reserve a room for us."

He laughs as I sputter in indignation, too shocked and outraged for words. Malfoy's arrogance knows no bounds, and I open my mouth to protest when he waves a hand negligently and stops me.

"The interview? The Leaky has conference rooms in the back. 2 p.m. Thursday. Don't be late, Potter."

And with that he's gone, stepping into the Floo and disappearing in a whirl of green flames before I can even open my mouth. I glare at the fire for long moments after he is gone – angry at his presumption – though whether it's at using my Floo without asking or kissing me like that and then leaving I can't say.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 11:**

**Draco's POV, Thursday, 2.20pm, The Leaky Cauldron**

"You're late, Potter," I state and purse my lips, indignant of the fact that I've sat here for twenty bloody minutes waiting for the great Harry Potter to show his face. I don't even know why I stayed – I should've left at ten past two when I was angry enough to blow up the small conference room with a few skilled swishes of my wand. Damn that ridiculous deadline for my book – otherwise I wouldn't have given a fucking damn about Potter's whereabouts.

Seriously, that man thinks he can get away with absolutely everything. His fame has clearly gone into his head after all these years! It doesn't matter what you do to simplify the matter, Potter always goes and thinks he's above everyone and anything. I wish I could curse his arse from underneath him. Unfortunately, I can't. Well, I can, however I doubt it would go down well with my publisher, who will, and there's no doubt about that, curse my own arse from underneath me. And to be honest, I'm quite attached to my arse.

"I know. Apologies. We've had a little incident in Hogsmeade. Somebody thought it funny to owl Madam Rosmerta a not-so-pleasant surprise – the poor woman was nearly hysterical when we got there and insisted I come to sort it out."

I open my mouth to retort something nasty, but Potter beats me to it. "I would've sent my Patronus with a message but it took us a good while to get on top of the chaos the unwanted gift caused," Potter continues and shrugging out of his robes, he throws it onto the table and slumps into the chair opposite me, while I stare at his forearms, which are covered with fresh small wounds, scratches, bite marks and burns.

"What on earth happened to you?" I ask and pointing my wand at his forearms, I uncross my legs and gracefully get out of my chair to round the table. Sitting down on the edge of the table, I reach for Potter's left arm and inspect his injuries.

"Madam Rosmerta's unpleasant surprise happened to me." Potter sighs and he attempts to pull his arm out of my hands, but I'm faster. Tightening my hold on his hand, I continue to inspect the injuries, and swishing my wand I mumble a few Healing Charms. They work perfectly and before long Potter's left arm looks as good as new.

"Anyone ever taught you self-protection, Potter?" I ask and looking at his face I reach for his right arm where I continue to heal his burns, wounds, scratches and bite marks.

"Yeah, I use healing spells when it matters, Malfoy," Potter retorts, and the moment I'm done, he pulls both his arms out of my immediate reach and crosses them over his chest. "Those were minor injuries, Malfoy; they'd have healed by themselves."

Rolling my eyes, I put my wand away and crossing my legs at the ankle, I lean forward and brace myself on the padded armrests of Potter's chair. I move closer, bringing my face within inches of his, and smirk when Potter sucks in a sharp, quivering breath. "They'd have left nasty scars," I whisper and stare at Potter, with the very intention to make him squirm in his seat. He looks just so perfect when he feels trapped, feels like he can't get away, like he's powerless.

"Like you're concerned about whether my job leaves me with lasting scars or not," Potter scoffs.

"Random scars are unbecoming, Potter, its lightning bolt shaped curse-scars that are in this century. Surely you of all people ought to know that." I'm tempted to run my fingers through Potter's messy hair to expose that ghastly scar on his forehead, but I resist. Instead I run my fingertips over Potter's bare forearm and smirk when he shudders. I lean closer and Potter gasps. I know what he's expecting… but he isn't going to get lucky just yet… When my lips are almost touching Potter's, I halt. "Are you all set for our interview?" I ask, sounding as nonchalant and uncaring as I possibly can. It's difficult, but I manage. I'm a master in keeping my composure when I really want to. On the few occasions that I've slipped – well, it wasn't my fault then!

Instead of responding, Potter parts his lips and slowly wets them with the very tip of his tongue. Then – suddenly – and I'm a little confused as to why exactly, I find myself pushed back hard against the table and Potter's kissing me hard. I try to brace myself on my hands, but Potter's once again quicker and my back is now pressed against the firm wood of the table while my legs – slightly spread to allow Potter to press his erection against mine – hang off the edge and my feet are only barely touching the ground. All in all it's a rather awkward position – but Potter's kissing abilities definitely make up for my current discomfort.

Then, as suddenly as the kiss started, Potter breaks away and panting hard he stars down at me, actually forcing me to blink twice to sharpen my vision. "Don't you fucking play games with me, Malfoy," Potter snarls and gracefully straightening himself, he sits back in his chair and rests his hands in his lap. "Do proceed, Malfoy, I do not have all day for your annoying questions."

I have to admit, it takes me a moment to compose myself, but when I do, I swiftly sit up, brush the invisible dust off my designer clothes – yes they're Muggle and no I'm not a pure-blood traitor – and clear my throat. Drawing my wand, I Accio my Dictaphone and switching it on, I ensure my settings are correct before I hit the 'record' button and gently place the device on the table, making sure it's out of the danger zone – Potter seems to be a little unpredictable this afternoon… "Well, talk," I say and copying Potter's position, I rest my hands in my lap.

"Talk about what?" Potter asks sweetly, and I'm torn between grabbing his collar, slamming him into the wall and fucking him hard or opening my mouth to make a snide remark. Much to my own astonishment I opt for neither of the two – I must be demented. Without a doubt my rather frequent encounters with Potter are messing with my composed, cool, aristocratic nature. There is no other explanation.

"The war," I respond.

"Where would you like me to start?"

Merlin! Is he playing dumb or is he purposefully trying to infuriate me? "The beginning…"

"I thought that book of yours was going to be an unbiased account of the Second Voldemort War not my life's story?"

I take a deep breath to compose myself. "Fine… We'll play this game your way…" I smile but I'm itching to… to… to do something I know I will regret even before I finish the curse. "We'll start at the end… In hindsight, what is your personal opinion about the war?"

"It was a ridiculous waste of time, wizards and witches gave their lives for no sane reason and still the wizarding community hasn't learned anything from the whole fracas."

"Potter! Could you _please_ at least put a little bit of effort into this? There's no way I can use this as a quote in relation to anything." I sigh.

"Why? You asked a question… I answered. What is wrong with that?" Potter smiles that typical Potter-smile that just makes me want to punch him in the face and knock his teeth out. Fortunately for the Golden Boy, I'm not a very violent person.

"You are trying to infuriate me," I growl and Potter laughs. He laughs. He fucking laughs. He bloody fucking laughs!

"Correction, Malfoy, you are letting me infuriate you."

Right now it would really be safer for Potter to back off. I'm about a nanosecond away from losing my temper. Still… I have to keep my cool. "Why do you believe that the wizarding community hasn't learned from the war?" I ask instead of allowing Potter to involve me into a pointless discussion.

"Because they're still looking for somebody to lead them. Voldemort saw that weakness and he used it to his advantage. When the wizarding community realized that Voldemort wasn't going to give them what they wanted and needed they turned to somebody else and declared them their hero, their savior – "

"You," I interrupt.

"Exactly. Instead of fighting the monster when they had a chance they allowed the monster to brainwash them and then came running to me for help."

"You're going to have to permanently go into hiding if I write that." I sigh, and pushing his chair back, Potter rises and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Maybe. Though I'm hoping that it will open people's minds and make them realize that what I say makes sense." Potter shrugs. "Anyway, Malfoy, your time's up for today. I'm out of the country from tomorrow until the end of the month. So any further meetings for interviews will have to wait until I return in three week's time." And with those words Potter turns on his heel and leaves the room.

I stare after him – thoroughly gobsmacked – and it's only the slamming of the door that pulls me back into the real world. That slimy little git! He's cleverer than I thought. And though it greatly pains me to do so, I must admit that Potter tricked me with my very own tactics. I don't have the faintest idea how he managed to worm his way under my skin but he did and also had the indecency to overpower me with my very own weapons.

Respect, Potter, respect! I didn't think you had it in you… but apparently the rumors are true and you were indeed sorted into the wrong house back when we first met.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 12:**

**Harry's POV, five months later**

I toe the dead body with the tip of my shoe, tipping the victim enough to confirm if the fatal bullet wound went all the way through. It did. I grimace at the gore and step away, careful not to contaminate the scene. This string of killings has been far more brutal than anything I've ever seen back home, where wizards kill with magic, not Muggle weapons.

When the Auror Corps agreed to lend me out to the FBI I'd been told it was a temporary thing, as in days or weeks. Not months! But the serial killer that has been plaguing the wizarding districts throughout the States has proven harder to catch than they'd initially thought, and my hopes of getting home soon diminish with each murder. I've had a lot of lonely, drunken nights to think about what I miss about home, and I'm not completely happy with all of the revelations I've found at the bottom of my whisky glass.

I'm not prepared for the haughty voice I hear behind me as though conjured by my melancholy thoughts. I've been sorely missing the sounds of home – these Americans with their flat accents and their odd obsession with mine are driving me crazy – and for a moment I think this might just be a figment of my imagination.

"Let me through. I have urgent business with Auror Potter," the slightly nasal voice demands. I can practically _hear_ the FBI agent bristle at his tone. No figment, then.

"_Agent_ Potter is investigating the scene of a crime," the burly man answers, his clipped accent grating over my nerves. I imagine it is worse for Malfoy, who hasn't had months of exposure to dull the sound.

"_Auror_ Potter is being recalled. He is to come with me at once," Malfoy says, and I turn immediately, seeking out his face. He doesn't _look_ like he's bluffing, but one can never be certain with Slytherins.

Malfoy pushes something into the agent's hands – a roll of parchment, it looks like – and pushes past him. I have to sidestep a bit to block him from walking straight into the evidence.

"Malfoy," I say; my voice low and wary. For some reason it seems imperative to me that I don't let on how happy I am to see him. Must be that bit of Slytherin self-preservation the Sorting Hat saw in me.

"Potter," he greets in the same tone, his grey eyes warming several degrees. "You're to come back to Britain at once. The Ministry for Magic has requested your return."

I squint at his face, which is practically luminescent in the harsh Floridian sunlight. He's not wearing any protection charms and his skin is already beginning to pink under the merciless rays.

"I don't particularly like being lied to, Potter," he says in a menacing whisper, leaning so close his lips brush my ear. I can't help but shiver at the touch, the first semi-intimate touch I've had in months.

"I don't lie, Malfoy," I say evenly, taking a step back to reclaim my personal space. "The assignment was for three weeks, but it's been extended several times."

I study him carefully, watching several well-concealed emotions flit across his closed-off face. Is he really here to deliver an order from the Minister, or is he just taking the piss? I can't tell, and it bothers me.

"Looks like this is goodbye, then, Potter," a voice behind me says. I swirl to face the speaker, the woman who has been my boss here with the FBI since my arrival. "Minister Shacklebolt has a high-profile job for you back in Britain. He's sending someone else to replace you tomorrow."

I nod woodenly, taking her proffered hand to shake it. Malfoy closes in the moment I release it and wrapping his hand around my upper arm and Side-along Apparates me without warning. This is surreal. Not ten minutes ago I was examining a murder scene in the muggy, fetid Florida heat and now I'm being whisked away by the person I least wanted to see but have thought about the most.

"Fucking hell, Malfoy!" I yell when my feet find solid ground again.

I look around, still a bit dazed from the sudden Apparation. I'd have hexed him mid-jump if I hadn't been worried about Splinching myself. The muggy air has been replaced by what can only be the effects of a judicious Cooling Charm; not even the Muggle air-conditioners at my hotel manage to get the air this cool and sweet. I clench my fist around my wand, glaring at the smug smirk on Malfoy's handsome face.

"My hotel," he says by way of explanation, ringing a bell that instantly summons a house-elf bearing a tray of cold drinks. I'm impressed despite myself; this hotel is much more well-appointed than mine. Of course mine, with its neon lighting and rough sheets, is courtesy of the FBI.

"Who sent you, Malfoy?" I snap, giving in to my thirst and grabbing a glass of iced tea from the tray. I rest it against my forehead for a moment, letting the tiny beads of condensation cool my sun-warmed skin.

"Shacklebolt," Malfoy says, grinning as he lounges against the bar that separates the sitting room from a small kitchen area.

I blink suspiciously when I realize there are several doors that open into what must be bedrooms. Why such a large suite for one person? I'm fairly certain I know the answer, but Malfoy is only too happy to fill me in.

"You're under orders to speak with me for my book, Potter," Malfoy practically crows. "Shacklebolt's decided it's in Britain's best interest to have a historically accurate account of the war. Guess whose publisher won the rights to it? Yet again?"

He buffs his nails against his lightweight jumper, the negligent action making my blood boil. At least I'll get to go home, unless he figures he can keep me here under lock and key for the duration.

"As I'm sure you've surmised," He drawls, his grey eyes absolutely alive with amusement, "you're to remain here until I have what I need from you."

My fingers tighten around the glass in my hand to keep myself from hexing him. I'll be Fire-calling Kingsley the moment we're done, but I have a sinking feeling this is all part of a set-up. He and Hermione have always been too nosey by half.

"And what exactly is it that you need from me, Malfoy?" I manage to say, my seething rage barely contained.

I'm hardly surprised at all when he pushes off the counter and is at my side in the span of seconds. I clench my jaw as his tongue slides teasingly across my lips, refusing to engage in his games. He pulls back with a moue of disappointment that makes his soft lips look even more kissable.

"I think you know the answer to that, Potter," he murmurs before diving back in for another kiss.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 13:**

**Draco's perspective, Draco's hotel suite, that very same evening**

I find myself flailing to keep my balance a minute later when Potter roughly shoves me back, breaking our kiss. Stumbling two steps back, I manage to steady myself and straightening up; I try to keep a composed face.

"How did you do it?" Potter snarls and glaring at me he crosses his arms over his chest.

"Do what?" I ask nonchalantly. I don't want to talk. Why does Potter always want to talk? I didn't bring Potter here for small talk! I brought him here to pay him back for vanishing into thin air for a solid five months! He doesn't even have the faintest idea of what my publisher put me through! I nearly got hexed to the North Pole! My only way of saving my arse was to get Shacklebolt involved – which was a rather fine move of me, if you ask me. Not only did I manage to convince my publisher to pay me double the amount he previously offered me, but I also managed to help ensure that my publisher owns the _exclusive_ rights to the book. Until my historically accurate account of the war is completed, no other book about the Second Voldemort War may be published.

"How did you pull it off? How did you convince Kingsley?" Potter barks. His eyes are livid – he's still boiling with anger, I'm sure of that. But I'm also sure that he too doesn't want to talk. So why the bloody fucking hell – no, I will not apologize for my vulgar choice of words – does he need to discuss this out now? Why?

"I gave him facts and quoted you." I shrug and taking two tentative steps forward, I rest my hands on Potter's crossed arms and tightening my hold, I concentrate and before Potter has a chance to object I Apparate us into the master bedroom of the suite, right next to the massive four-poster bed. I hold on to Potter until he's steady on his feet and then, without a word of warning, I push him onto the bed and crawl after him. Straddling him, I lean forward and push his arms into the soft mattress. "Now shut up, Potter," I purr and brushing my lips against Potter, I capture his bottom lip with my teeth and bite it gently. I run the tip of my tongue over it and pry Potter's lips open. Slipping my tongue into the hot cavern, I seek out Potter's tongue and duel it fiercely.

I can feel Potter trying to resist me, but his body language is speaking a different language altogether. His tongue is willingly dueling with mine, his lips are moving in unison with mine and his arms only half-heartedly struggle against the firm hold I have on them. He's arching his back upward and I can feel his growing erection press against mine. The feeling is intoxicating. I can feel how much Potter wants me, how much he's been starved of human touch in the last couple of months, and it eggs me on. I can't seem to get enough of him. He tastes sweet and his little gasps and moans are like a drug to me and I can hardly believe that I finally managed to get what I've been trying to get for the last six months – ever since a completely banjaxed Potter made that lewd offer on my doorstop before he so very spectacularly covered himself in his own vomit.

I'm not quite sure what is going on, but I suddenly find myself on my back and Potter's on top, staring down at me. His mouth his open and his panting, trying to fill his lungs with some much needed oxygen. His eyes are almost black with desire and lust and it makes me want to promise Potter things I'd never promise another soul. But when I open my mouth, Potter shakes his head and my voice fails me. Fuck you, Potter! Why do you fucking do that?! Who do you fucking think you are? Why do you always manage to get under somebody's skin even when they hate your guts?

"Not a word, Malfoy, not a word," Potter whispers, and before I can blink twice his lips are back on mine and he's kissing me as though there's no tomorrow. My arms automatically wrap themselves around Potter's neck and I arch my back when he thrusts his groin hard against mine. Oh sweet fucking torture, if Potter even just thinks about putting a stop to this, I swear I will hex his cock and balls into the nearest active volcano!

I find it extremely difficult to keep up with what's going on – the sensations coursing through my body are making it sheer impossible to think. It's not like I haven't had my share of fun in the last six months – because believe me that's not the case, I've had plenty – but the fact that it's Potter who's causing these sensations is driving me wild. I'm not sure it should be this way, but I'm too far gone to care. I've Potter, I've an exclusive multi-million-Galleon book deal under my belt, I've the full support of the Minister for Magic of Britain and I'm going to make damn sure to cause uproar in the wizarding world as soon as I get Potter's account on the war – what more could I want? Maybe for my mind to stop whirling – because bloody fuck! I'm naked! When the fuck did that happen?

Potter seems to have noticed the obvious confusion on my face and blinking a couple of times, I focus on him and he chuckles with amusement. He too is naked – and holy fuck, I'd never thought I'd say this, but this man's positively delicious. Six months ago, I risked a peek, but this is better. So much better… I can definitely understand everyone's running after him like they're love-sick puppies. But I can't understand though is why Potter hides this body! It looks like I will have to take the Savior of the Wizarding World shopping! There's absolutely no fucking way I'm going to allow him to cover himself up now that I've seen what he has on offer. That chest! Those abs! He has a fucking six-pack! Those muscles and damn it I never thought I'd say this, but Potter's chest hair is sexy! Those biceps… those thighs… oh sweet fucking Merlin!

"Patience, Malfoy," Potter chuckles and kisses my lips. I frown. I haven't got the slightest idea what Potter's on about – I didn't do anything… "I'm going to fuck you, you can be sure of that…" Potter continues, interrupting my train of thoughts. "There's no need to beg," he whispers and has the sheer indecency to wink at me. Potter bloody winked at me! I'm naked, I've a raging hard on and Potter has the cheek to wink at me! Who the hell does he think he is? Oh, when I get my hands on him, I will show him exactly who's calling the shots here, because it's sure as hell not him! Potter might believe that the whole world revolves around him, but that's not true and I'm going to show him just that! That man needs to be told a lesson! Oh holy shit!

I find myself yelping and wriggling in discomfort when a Stretching Charm and Lubrication Spell hits me – when exactly did Potter manage to reach for his wand? And why does it seem to be impossible for me to keep up with what's happening? Maybe because I didn't think I'd end up at the receiving end?

"Ready Malfoy?" Potter whispers and his lips are ghosting over mine as he speaks. I swallow hard and find myself nodding, firmly ignoring the maelstrom of thoughts in my head. "Good… 'cause I'm going to fuck you." Potter smirks and damn it, I want to punch that smirk off his face. Why does he have to be so cocky? What did I do to deserve that kind of punishment? Why does Potter seem to be so completely different to what I imagined he'd be? How can it possibly be that I know so little about this man? And damn it, I'm thinking again!

Potter's cock breaching the tight muscle around my entrance is a sufficient and welcome distraction, and bracing myself for what's about to come I keep myself as relaxed as possible as Potter pushes his hard cock slowly into me. Oh heavens! This feels fucking amazing. I've always loved the feeling of being penetrated, being filled by a hard cock.

I let out a moan and biting my bottom lip I feel the heat rise into my cheeks and entangle my hands in the bed sheet – anything to ground myself with. Even just a little… "Move, Potter, move!" I snap. "I'm not made of porcelain," I order, and Potter chuckles but obeys. Pulling back he slams into me and I arch my back and groan. Well, that's more like it! Who would've thought that Potter knows how to fuck!

I want to wrap my hand around my own hard cock, but Potter's having none of it. He slaps my hand away and thrusting into me he changes the angle ever so slightly and holy fucking shit! I think I'm floating somewhere between the seventh and the ninth heaven! My whole body is on fire and reaching out; I wrap my arms around Potter's neck. He takes the hint and leaning down he kisses me hard. His rhythm never falters and with each thrust he brushes my prostate, sending me spiraling right out of control. I'm not quite sure whether we're still on the bed or floating in the air, but I don't give a damn.

I don't ever want this feeling to end, yet I can feel the tell-tale tingle in the base of spine and even if I wanted to draw things out, there's absolutely no way I'd manage. Potter had me on edge for far too long and I can't bloody believe I just admitted this!

Potter's next words are my absolute undoing and even though I want to curse him, I can't seem to concentrate on anything but my impending release. "Draco…" Potter whispers. "Come for me, Draco," he murmurs and kisses me hard. Forcing his hand in-between our sweaty bodies he wraps it around my weeping cock and gives it a few firm strokes, pulling me over the edge with such abruptness that I can't help but arch my back, push the back of my head into the pillow and, wrenching my lips away from Potter's, I tilt my head and expose my neck.

Gulping in copious amounts of oxygen, I try to somehow keep on top of things but Potter's simulations are everywhere. His dick shoved up my arse… his continuous teasing of my prostate… his hand on my cock, working me expertly… his lips and tongue and I can still taste him… the look in his eyes… the words he muttered a mere thirty seconds ago. Holy fuck, I don't think I've ever come so hard. I can feel my own come splash all over my stomach and without a doubt also Potter's stomach.

I want to whisper Potter's name, want to draw him over the edge like he drew me over the edge, but I can't seem to muster the strength needed to open my eyes. For all I know I could've just died and gone to heaven! Fuck, if dying is this amazing – can I do it again?

I'm not sure how many more times Potter thrusts into me before his own orgasm tears through him, but he sure as hell doesn't linger. He knocks the air out of my lungs when he collapse on top of me and then rolls sideways but I'm still too far gone to care…

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 14:**

**Harry's POV, two weeks later**

I still can't believe that Draco Malfoy, pure-blood wizard extraordinaire, uses a Muggle laptop to write. It's not even spelled the way the ones the Ministry uses are – it's an honest-to-Merlin Muggle laptop. The only magical thing about it is the wards he uses to protect it from ambient magic.

I can hear him typing away furiously in the other room, probably transcribing his notes from our two-hour interview earlier. I've actually been enjoying myself, a fact I keep well hidden from Malfoy. A short Firecall with Kingsley assured me that this _was_ indeed my only assignment, and I've been making the most of it. Forget the fact that I'm holed up with my once-moral enemy; the hotel Malfoy picked has excellent room service and the most well-outfitted workout room I've ever seen, plus something called cable that I'm making judicious use of. It's a nice respite from the dull months I've spent here in the States, even if it _is_ with Malfoy.

A muffled curse from the other room draws my attention away from the delectable scene playing on telly, but only briefly. I've no intention of telling Malfoy about the channels I've discovered; wanking myself raw to Muggle porn while knowing he's spending another sexually frustrated night next door is one of the only forms of entertainment I have. True to Kingsley's word, we're stuck here until Malfoy decides he has enough information for his book. Since we've not even touched on the year Hermione, Ron and I spent on the run – and I've no intention of telling him about the Horcruxes, official orders or no – I imagine we're going to be here awhile longer. I actually toyed with the idea of suggesting he invite Ron and Hermione to join us, since he obviously needs to interview them as well, but that might be taking things too far. I do want to get back home at some point, after all.

A quick look over at the bedroom door confirms my Locking Spell is holding. I grin at the thought of Malfoy slaving over his book while I'm in here lounging naked on my bed watching porn. And getting paid to do it, to boot. I turn the TV up a bit so I can hear the couple on screen moaning better. The blond in the film isn't as slender as Malfoy, but he's fit enough to do the job. I let my hand ghost down my abdomen, tickling against the soft hairs that trail down to my groin. It's not hard to imagine that this is Malfoy's hand, his long fingers wrapping around my hard cock and tugging none-too-gently. We've been studiously avoiding the topic since our hasty fuck the night he arrived, but I'm losing my resolve. I bite my lip as my thumb glides through the precome coating the head of my cock, the sensation not nearly as good as breaching Malfoy's tight heat had been. Just the thought of it makes my pulse race – the memory of Malfoy splayed out before me, begging me to fuck him, so gloriously naked and so un-fucking-believably wanton. I'd never have guessed he really had it in him to follow through, though to be fair, I doubt he thought the Savior of the Wizarding World would really throw him on his back and pound into his arse.

My muscles clench at the image of Malfoy, flushed and panting as I drive into him, which is now burned onto my eyelids. I can't even hear the escalating moans from the TV as I focus on the memory, using it to bring myself off in record time. I fall back against the pillows, not even bothering to use a charm to clean my come-covered hand as I struggle to catch my breath. I focus on the sounds coming from the sitting room and I realize he's not typing anymore. A slow smile spreads across my face as I wonder if he heard something from my room, either me wanking or the noises from the TV, wonder if they've driven him to his room for a similar activity.

I have no doubt that I'll have Draco Malfoy in my bed again, which is what keeps me from tearing his clothes off every time I see him. I want him to beg again, for him to come to me desperate for more. I know he's likely thinking the same thing, but that's alright. I can wait. In a battle of stubbornness, I have an advantage; I _know_ its Slytherin against Slytherin – he doesn't.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 15:**

**Draco's POV, the morning after Potter's wank, just before noon**

More than a little annoyed, I viciously slam the laptop's lid shut, shove my chair backwards and getting up I grab my wand. Pointing it at a framed Muggle portrait on the wall opposite my desk, I hiss a curse and watch the glass explode into a million tiny pieces. The paper beneath is torn to shreds by the sheer force of my curse. The fact that I've just destroyed a painting doesn't make me feel any better though and approaching the ruined portrait carefully, I swish my wand and repair the damage before I slam my foot into the wall and scream in agony when a searing pain shoots up my calf, nearly throwing me off balance. Hopping over to the couch, I fall into the soft cushions and sigh. Fuck! That really wasn't a very clever move – my leg's really sore now.

I've been up since half four this morning, I've downed six mugs of coffee and all I've written are two bloody paragraphs! Two bloody fucking paragraphs! I've tried about every trick in the book, which I know works for me, but I cannot manage to string a decent sentence together. It's like I'm cursed! I've replayed the bits of the interview with Potter from yesterday afternoon, so many times that I've taken to muttering along. I can actually quote Potter in my sleep now and even though I know exactly what I want to write, I can't seem to put whatever's in my head into words. It's freaking me out. I hate it when I have those moments. I can't deal with this dratted disease writer's suffer from time to time – no, you're not going to get me to say it out loud or even think it. That just makes matters worse.

"Malfoy. What's all this ruckus about?" Potter asks, standing in the doorway of his bedroom – dressed in a pair of deliciously tight black boxers – looking for all the world like he's only just rolled out of bed and of course extremely shaggable – fuck, he's got no idea how much I want him. His hair is mussed and he looks so very sleepy. Looks like I'm not the only one who was struggling to sleep last night. I stopped writing around half eleven last night and went straight to bed to get some rest – well, I might've stopped over in the bathroom for a relaxing scented bath to calm my nerves and relax my raw fingertips.

Typing up notes for future chapters, interviews, possible questions and at the same time working on the chapters I already have and re-writing bits and pieces really isn't a walk in the park. It's hard work, really hard work. And yes, I know I could use a few spells to charm the laptop to make the work that little bit easier, but that's just not me. I want to write this book the old-fashioned way. I'm recording all the interviews with Potter, I'm taking notes while he talks – which just makes me feel like Potter's therapist, though I'm not about to mention this to him – I'm typing up the notes and bits and pieces of the interviews, I'm making more detailed notes wherever I can, updating my time-line of all the events and I'm making editions and footnotes to all chapters. I'm really serious about this book; I want to give it more than just my best shot. I'm getting a shit-load of Galleons for writing this book and I'll be damned to make a mistake. This book is going to end up being a must-read for first-year Hogwarts students!

"Am I going to get an answer?" Potter rudely interrupts my train of thoughts – also known as daydream – and looking up at him, I frown.

"I don't see how it concerns you… if I want to make a ruckus, I certainly will. You, Potter, certainly had no problem doing that last night. And don't think I didn't hear you, a deaf person would've heard you. You weren't exactly quiet," I mutter snidely and glare at Potter, who, much to my dismay, looks somewhat amused. Can I punch him? Please! There're no witnesses around. Nobody would ever know. I'd even charm his memory to erase said moment. It would be something I could treasure for the rest of my life. I know it would make me feel good.

"A man has needs." Potter shrugs and walking into the room, he grabs my coffee mug from my desks and plunks himself onto the couch next to me. "And I merely tended to those needs."

"A man can keep those needs to himself." I glare at Potter, who grins widely and sips on my coffee.

"Ah, but where's the fun in that?"

"Potter! I do not want to listen to you get off! It's disgusting!" I snap, and snatching my coffee mug from Potter, I curse under my breath when some of the lukewarm beverage spills onto my khaki trousers. Grabbing my wand, I mutter a Cleaning Charm and watching the stain dissolve, I take a sip from my coffee and pointedly glare at Potter. "Do not, I repeat do not, touch my coffee."

"Why? Are you going to be a cranky bitch if I do?" Potter raises his eyebrow at me and I practically have to use all my willpower to refrain from lashing out at him. He's driving me nuts. I'm not going to be able to stand this much longer. I'm nowhere near close to finishing up the book, and whereas I managed to interview most of the other survivors of the war while Potter was AWOL for five months, there still so many gaps in my timeline. So many things are unclear. And I know Potter's keeping vital information from me. I'll be damned if he doesn't spill the beans soon. He's going to give me every little piece of information; otherwise I'll tie him to the bed and curse his erection to never falter. We'll see how much he's going to like this after a week of no release. Potter does not have the upper hand in this game. He might think he does, but just because I let him fuck me two weeks ago doesn't mean he can do whatever the fuck he wants. All it takes is one Firecall to Shacklebolt to complain about Potter's uncooperativeness and that stupid little Gryffindork is going to come tumbling down from his high horse.

"Fuck you, Potter!" I snarl, and when Potter chuckles I find myself clutching my mug so hard that I'm afraid it'll break.

"Maybe," He shrugs and getting off the couch he stretches in a way that should be forbidden. Merlin, he needs a license for that body. I just want to throw him on the floor, yank those boxers down and give him the fuck of his life. I know what he's doing. He's trying to make me lose control over my actions – and my body. Well, he doesn't know me very well, does he? I'm not going to succumb to his cheap games any time soon – he can wank his dick sore if he wants to. If Potter wants a repeat of what happened two weeks ago, he's got to try harder. "Do you want to go out?"

"Wha-what?" I frown, looking confused. Did Potter just ask me if I want to go out? What the hell is he playing at now?

"I asked if you want to go out. You know… catch some fresh air. There's a beach not too far from here."

"How do you know?" I ask, looking slightly baffled.

"It's called the internet, Malfoy; even I know how to use it." Potter has the indecency to roll his eyes at me.

"I know what the internet is, thank you very much Potter." I scowl, and Potter smirks.

"I thought you might," he says and he's sounding almost nonchalant. Stretching again, he winks at me – something he's taken to doing several times a day lately. I find myself staring at his body and I can only barely resist licking my lips. He's hot. And fuck, he knows that I like what I see. That's why he's doing it in the first place. "So, do you wanna go out? Seems like your writing hit a bit of a dry spell."

"I'm sorting my thoughts…" I glare, and Potter chuckles.

"Do you want to sort your thoughts at the beach?"

"Why are you so eager to get out?"

"I wanna stretch my legs. I need some fresh air. I want to dip into the cool waves and swim in the ocean. Do you mind?" Potter shrugs, and getting up from the couch, I wince when I put a little weight on my sore foot. Note to self, kicking walls in anger is not advisable. It does not solve anything and it's something Potter would do, not something a Malfoy would, or should, do. Really, all this time in Potter's company is not doing me any good.

"No, I don't," I say nonchalantly and grabbing my wand I Accio a very light pain-numbing potion from my room and down it in one go. Great, now I've a sprained ankle and toes to add to my list of troubles. Like I don't have other, more important, matters to worry about and more pressing issues to attend to.

"Good. Let's go then. You can Apparate us."

"I thought you hated Side-along Apparition?" I frown.

"I do. But I'll live." Potter shrugs and whirling around, he walks towards his bedroom door. I know he knows that I'm staring at his arse, but I don't give a fuck. Two can play this game, Potter. And you will find that I'll end up winning. You ain't got nothing on a Malfoy.

'Admit it, Potter, you just want a reason to get up-close-and-personal,' I think to myself and tearing my gaze away from a half-naked Potter, I head towards my own bedroom, my eyes firmly focused onto the ground. I'm not going to give Potter the satisfaction of catching me lusting over his way too handsome body. I do have a little bit of dignity left. Potter's not yet managed to completely strip me of everything. I might've allowed him to fuck me – and may I add that's he's a wuss, he keeps avoiding the subject like he's allergic to it – but I'm not going to allow him to get under my skin. Not just yet anyway. He's got to earn that privilege – and let me tell you that nobody's managed that to date. I don't surrender all of myself that easily. I might've given in two weeks ago, but that was sheer need. Well there might've been a little more but if you think I'm going to admit that then you really don't know me very well. I'm a Malfoy – enough said.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 16:**

**Harry's POV, the next morning**

It's almost too easy, this game I'm playing with Malfoy. I watch him over the rim of my coffee mug, taking care not to give my interest away. He may think he's the only one who can Occlude and observe, but he's not. I didn't spend three years at the Auror Academy for nothing, after all.

It's hard not to smirk when I see him wince as his silk shirt rubs against his shoulders. Idiotic git didn't take the difference in latitude into account when he cast his Sunblock Charms yesterday at the beach, and he has the burnt skin to prove it today. I stretch, knowing his eyes will be on me as my nicely tanned arms reach above my head, the muscles in my toned torso flexing with the motion. I've been putting the exercise facilities here to very good use and I'm well aware how fit I'm looking of late.

"Up too early, Potter?" he snarks, his upper lip curling in distaste as I settle back into my chair. Point of fact, it _is_ early, just past 7 a.m., but I'd never show that sort of weakness to him.

"Not at all, Malfoy," I say pleasantly, and I can practically hear his teeth grind together. His pupils are dilated and there's a faint flush on his cheeks that isn't all due to the sunburn. "Just thinking about heading back out for another swim."

He shakes his head, muttering to himself in a most delightful way, since I am quite sure one of the famed Malfoy Rules of Conduct is _never_ to talk to yourself, especially in the presence of others. Perhaps his burn is worse than I'd realized – it's hard to say, since Malfoy whinges like a little girl about everything.

"The locals swear by aloe," I surprise myself by blurting out. Perhaps _I_ got too much sun yesterday as well.

His clueless glare makes me smile again, which just sets him off anew. I take great satisfaction by interrupting his rant about work ethic with an explanation of the medicinal properties of aloe.

"Of course I know what aloe is, you dolt," he snaps, bringing his hands down so forcefully against the table that the cutlery rattles. "I_ also _know that it loses its soothing properties if applied by magic."

I stare at him, perplexed until he rolls his eyes in a way that I'm scarily starting to find endearing – I really _must_ get out more, if this is the result of spending all my time with Malfoy – and pushes away from the table with a sigh.

"I have aloe, Potter," he says, sounding more tired than angry now as he heads towards his room. "But as most of the burn is on my back, I was unable to apply it."

Ah, that's what he meant about magic. I sit and sip the rest of my rapidly cooling coffee, considering my options. I could be nice and offer to apply the aloe myself. Anyone can see he is suffering, and going to the beach _had_ been my idea. Something stirs in me at the thought of Malfoy spread half-naked across his bed while I rub my hands over his too-hot skin, and suddenly this seems like a wonderful idea. I idly wonder if I'll be able to work him up enough to get him begging again as I cross the sitting room and rap lightly on his door before pushing it open.

"Fuck, Potter, what's the point of knocking if you're just going to open it anyway?" he snaps. His shirt is off and I can see the angry red skin stretched across his back.

"Just here to offer a little help," I say, nodding toward the bottle of aloe in his hands. He's obviously been trying to find a way to coat his back with it, and I can see trails of the shiny substance everywhere he could reach on his back.

"Fuck off," he says, but there's no heat in it. He doesn't protest when I motion toward the bed, which makes me wonder if he's taken some sort of potion for the pain and it's made him loopy. He arranges himself comfortably on the soft duvet, his arms framing his face so I can reach his shoulders and upper arms as well. The burn seems to delve a bit below his trousers, but I choose not to mention it, since I finally have him where I want him.

I squirt a generous amount of the slippery substance in my palms before sliding onto the bed and straddling his thighs. I can tell the position startles him because I can feel his muscles go taunt underneath me, but I say nothing and simply lean forward to let my hands glide over his abused flesh. He makes a quiet whimper of what I assume is relief as I coat his back in aloe, careful not to use too much pressure as I rub it into the reddened skin.

His back feels so hot under my fingers that it's a wonder he didn't break down and ask for help at some point – I can't imagine he slept much, since his chest is almost as bad as his back. He'd have been able to treat that himself, but the aloe is more of a stopgap than a cure; I'm sure that even now it hurts for him to be pressed into the bed the way he is.

I lose myself in the sensation of my fingers skating over his skin, careful to cover every bit of him I can see. Even the tips of his ears are burnt. He hisses when my hands travel down to his lower back, and I pull away, afraid I've hurt him even worse. He manages a hoarse reassurance and a shake of his head, so I resume my ministrations, my fingers now dipping ever so slightly beneath the waistband of his trousers. He hisses again, and this time I'm relatively sure it's not pain he's feeling. Bolstered by his reaction, as well as my own erection that has been pressing into his thigh for long minutes now with no reproach from him, I whisper a spell to divest him of his clothing. I have a large repertoire of wandless magic, but regrettably most of it is for times such as these – I'd still be fucked if someone took my wand off me in the field, but ironically not having my wand wouldn't keep me from actually _being_ fucked. I grin at the errant thought as my still-slick hands trail over his firm arse, tracing the stark line between the burn and creamy white skin.

"Potter," he says lowly as my fingers tease the very top of his crack, "I don't think I –"

I ignore him, cutting him off as I repeat the spell on myself. He groans when my unconfined cock falls heavily against his thigh.

"It's my turn anyway," I answer after a moment, easing myself off his legs and lying back against the cool blankets. He turns over at the movement, his eyes going wide when he realizes that I'm using my aloe-coated fingers to stretch myself.

"Just don't, please," I murmur when he opens his mouth, which promptly snaps shut again. I see him wince as he sits up fully, which just goes to show that I was right – he'd have been incredibly uncomfortable doing anything but topping. Even that, once he starts to sweat, will probably hurt his tender skin, but it doesn't look like he cares.

I linger a few more moments before releasing myself and tossing him the bottle of aloe, which he opens without argument and uses to coat his erection. I see him hesitate when I boost myself up on all fours, making me wonder if he really is a Slytherin after all or if I'm not the only one who had a talk with the hat.

"Honestly, Malfoy," I say, exasperated. I'm aching to be fucked, and this is the only position that will both give me the depth I want and allow him to fuck me without his burnt skin rubbing against mine.

He seems to take my words as a challenge, lining himself up behind me in an instant. My fingers clench in the bedclothes at the intrusion when he pushes himself inside, but lucky his hesitation seems to have been short-lived; he's thrusting all the way without pause, seemingly uncaring about whether or not I'm adjusting. It suits me just fine. He moans when I push back against him, his fingers gripping my hips to still me as he pulls back and drives deeply into me again. Despite my self-discipline I can't help but cry out at the sensation, my head dropping into the pillow of my arms, surrendering myself to his strokes.

"Merlin, Potter," he growls, his fingers curiously light against my hips even as he uses them for leverage. It's a strange juxtaposition with the fierceness of his thrusts, this mixture of gentle and hard.

As his pace picks up I remember my still-slick hands, bringing one of them up to fist my cock furiously. It's so fucking good, and I bite my tongue so I don't accidently tell him. Even seconds away from a mind-blowing orgasm, I still have my priorities.

I hear him gasp behind me, letting loose a string of obscenities that I'm rather sure he didn't learn at the garden parties his mother is famous for throwing. And then I'm too caught up to care what he's doing, as my own orgasm overtakes me and I'm clenching my jaw so hard my teeth hurt as I spurt rope after rope of come over my hand.

Neither of us speaks as he pulls out, grabbing his wand to mutter a few Cleaning Charms. I'm grateful for the thought, since I don't especially like lying in a cooling patch of come. After another lengthy pause I roll to the side, grabbing my clothes from the floor where the spell deposited them in the same movement.

"Thanks for the aloe, Potter," he smirks from his spot on the bed. I glance over at him as I head toward the door, noting that his sneer seems like it's more for show than anything.

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 17:**

**Draco's POV, two days later, late afternoon**

I look up from the screen of my laptop as Potter barges into my bedroom, holding a couple sheets of battered looking paper in his hand. "It is common courtesy to knock, Potter." I scowl. He'll never learn. Ever since he barged into my room two days ago to apply aloe onto my burned back and beg me to fuck him, Potter's taken to simply entering my room whenever it suits him. Thankfully he hasn't walked in on anything so far, though I highly doubt that my luck in that department is going to hold. With Potter around I'm bound to be doomed.

"The door was open, Malfoy." Potter frowns at me, and I roll my eyes.

"It was ajar," I correct him, idly running my fingers over the keyboard. Now the thought is gone. Damn it, it was a good, it would've rounded off the chapter nicely. Now I need to ponder till I can come up with something else to finish the first draft of the chapter about Voldemort's mad Muggle attacks.

"Isn't that the same thing?" Potter has the absolute indecency to ask me an utterly ridiculous question and I glare when he, without any invitation whatsoever, slumps down onto my bed, shrugs off his slippers, pulls his feet up onto the bed and leans back against one of the four posts of my large canopy bed.

"I will refrain from answering stupid questions, Potter," I snarl. "What do you want? I'm writing…"

"So I saw. I've made a few attempts at the personal statement you wanted to include in the chapter about Dumbledore's funeral. Mind having a look over them?" Potter asks me with an expectant look on his face as he leans forward and grabs my wand, which is lying beside me. I try to stop him, take my wand before he pulls it out of reach, but The Git is quicker than me. He chuckles and swishing my wand he Conjures up a yellow tulip. "Damn it, I was trying for a daffodil," he mutters, and I firmly bite my bottom lip to suppress a chuckle.

"Wrong charm," I roll my eyes at Potter and glancing at the worn pages in Potter's hand, I sigh. "Leave those with me. I'll go over them later tonight." I incline my head towards Potter's, without a doubt, pathetic attempt at stringing a few sensible words together.

"I'd rather you check them out now," Potter says and pointing my wand at the yellow tulip in his hand, he flicks it and instead of Transfiguring the tulip into a daffodil, he turns it into something that's neither rose nor lily. I shake my head and for the second time in as many minutes I bite back a chuckle. Potter's green thumb leaves a lot to be desired.

"I'm working on an entirely different excerpt of the book at the moment, Potter." I glare and leaning forward I hold onto my laptop with one hand and snatch my wand out of Potter's hand with the other. Leaning back, I lazily point my wand at the disfigured flower Potter tried to create. "What do you want this to be?" I ask and Potter looks at me with an unreadable expression on his face. It makes me slightly uncomfortable, but true to my Malfoy roots I hold Potter's gaze until he shudders and averts his eyes.

"Make it a white rose," he mutters, and with a very lazy flick of my wand and a muttered charm, I fulfill Potter's request. The disfigured flower in Potter's left hand immediately transforms into a wonderful white rose, and its gentle scent fills my room. Smelling the centre of the flower, Potter smiles and his eyes have a cheeky glint in them, one that I'm not sure I like. "Never had you down as a romantic," Potter muses, and I just barely manage to suppress the urge to gag.

"Keep dreaming, Potter." I glare and closing the lid of my laptop, I push it off my lap and hold my hand out for the papers Potter so desperately wants me to read. The Prat seemingly understands me without words and hands over the crumbled pages. I have no idea what he did with them but he must've got frustrated with his attempts at some point. Glancing at the messy scribble – written with an ordinary Muggle pen – I skim over the assignment I gave Potter yesterday morning.

I barely make it to the end of the second sentence when my eyes widen with genuine surprise – thankfully my reaction is hidden from Potter by the pages in my hand. Potter's grasp of the English language is astonishing. His personal statement about Dumbledore's funeral is not half as bad as I thought it would be. In fact it's actually quite good – not that I'm going to tell him that. I'd rather spend the rest of my life in hell than make Potter a compliment he doesn't deserve. Well, maybe he does, but I still won't give him the satisfaction! I know he's waiting for it; he's practically gagging for it. And he can keep doing just that. I'm quite content with keeping my thoughts about Potter's writing to myself. Seriously though, I never thought Potter would manage to actually complete my assignment – which is why I gave it to him in the first place. He put up a rather fierce fight about having to do assignments for my book at first, but eventually he gave in, much to my surprise.

"This needs some serious revision but otherwise it is possibly useable," I eventually tell Potter, who smiles a genuine smile – a gesture that throws me a little off.

"I expected nothing but criticism from you, Malfoy." Potter shrugs. "Do with it whatever you like. Rip it apart, keep it, rework it… I don't give a damn."

"I'll file it away with my notes," I assure Potter, and for a moment I simply stare at him. Merlin, he looks so fucking gorgeous, I just want to grab him by the collar, throw him over the bed and shag him six ways into next week. And bloody hell, I can't believe I just thought that. Seriously, what's wrong with me! Being in Potter's presence is doing me no good at all.

"Do you want to do dinner?" Potter blurts out something I never expected to hear from him. I can't help but stare at him as though he's a complete stranger. What the fuck! Did Potter just ask me out to dinner? What the hell is wrong with me? First the trip to the beach – for which, I might add, I must seek revenge when he least expects it, as the skin on my back is peeling off and it looks absolutely hideous – then he soothed my sunburn with the aloe and his shameless offer of his body and now this. What's he playing at? I'm struggling to keep up with him. But I know he's up to something. And I don't like it. Not in the slightest. He has no right to be playing with me. If anything I'm the one who is going to play with him. And damn it, I will play with him! If he thinks he can fuck with my mind, then he damn well thought wrong. I'm still a Malfoy through and through and I will show him exactly what I think of his sly little game. Two can do this, Potter.

"I do." I smile and much to my pleasure, Potter looks royally confused. Looks like he expected me to question his suggestion – he most definitely did not expect an outright 'yes' to his question, which – on second thought – I'm not really sure he really intended to say out loud. Self-restraint is something Potter's clearly not very good at. Had it been me rubbing the aloe in, I'd have kept my composure. I wouldn't have offered myself up to him so shamelessly. I have more dignity than that, thank you very much!

I would, however, like to point out that I do not regret Potter lewdly offering me his arse. I claimed it with pleasure – the ride was a good one, a very good one. We're even. It's one – one, Potter. And guess what? It's not going to be you who scores next, even though I know that's where your intentions lie. Now that I've had the pleasure to fuck that tight arse of yours, I sure as hell will do so again! There isn't a chance in the world I'm going to give in and bottom for you, Potter. From now on, you're in for a surprise. Namely my cock up your arse!

And maybe, just maybe, I should stop thinking about my cock and Potter's arse – it really isn't doing me any good. I know that if I shift now, Potter will know exactly what I've been thinking about and I'm really not interested in letting him have that satisfaction. I try to act as casual as possible as I pull my knees up and, resting my forearms in my lap, I sneakily squeeze my rock-hard cock. At the same time I try to keep the pained look out of my eyes. Potter's smiling that smile again – the one that makes me want to punch him. Even in my aroused state. "Can I trust you to organize a table at the restaurant?" I ask in an attempt to distract myself. Those thoughts just won't go away, and Potter's looking good enough to eat. It's only now that I notice his state of undress – all he's wearing is a pair of blue shorts and a white tank top. It's not helping my little problem in the slightest, and if Potter doesn't leave this room in three seconds, I will…

Pinching my thigh hard, I bite my bottom lip. I refuse to finish that thought. I will not! If Potter thinks that running around the suite half-naked is all it takes to make me succumb to his body, he damn well thought wrong! He's got to try harder than that. I wouldn't mind another mass– damn it! Where did that thought come from?

"Of course you can. I'll phone reception," Potter smiles sweetly, and I still want to punch him. I do also want to fu– For Heaven's sake; I really need to get a grip. This is unreal. I refuse to let Potter have the upper hand. Realizing that I'm still holding on to my wand, I grasp it tightly and cast a nonverbal spell – one that instantly rids me of the little predicament I'm in. I sigh with relief and stretching languidly; I comfortably lean back against the soft pillow behind my back and part my legs slightly. Moving my hand to rest on my lower stomach, just over the waistband of my trousers, I smirk when Potter's eyes follow the movement of my hand. He stares without inhibitions and parting my legs a little further, I smile when Potter sucks in a sharp breath. He's predictable really – especially when you catch him off guard. "7.30pm, Potter," I stir our conversation back towards the planned dinner and frowning Potter looks at me – confusion written all over his face. "The dinner, Potter.7.30pm. Don't be late." I roll my eyes.

"Yes, the dinner," Potter nods.

"Don't forget to book the table," I remind Potter and he nods again. "Now, if you could kindly fuck off? I've some more writing to do."

Rolling his eyes, Potter reluctantly moves off my bed and backs away. I know he's trying not to stare, but he doesn't quite manage. I purposefully allow my hand to slide lower and Potter's breathing becomes somewhat labored. I know what he wants, I know damn well what he wants, but he isn't going to get it. Not now. Not when he wants it!

"Potter!" I snap and he jumps. "I said fuck off, I've work to do."

"Grumpy bastard," Potter grumbles and finally leaves my room. The moment he is out the door, I flick my wand and the door slams close. Casting a Locking Charm, I sort the papers with Potter's assignment and, shuffling a little to get more comfortable, I read Potter's little essay for the second time while my hand finds its way inside my trousers.

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 18:**

**Harry's POV, the next morning**

It was not my fault. I keep telling Kingsley that, but he won't listen. Hell, it wasn't even Malfoy's fault, and it takes a lot for me to admit that. I put on my best innocent face, the one that sold millions of copies of the _Daily Prophet_ after the war during the speeches I was forced to give – by Kingsley, the man currently holding my future in his hands. I hope the face reminds him of everything I've done for him. Fuck, even _being_ here is a favor to Kingsley. Unfortunately, he and the two dour law wizards sitting across the interrogation table from me don't seem to agree.

"It wasn't our fault," I say again, studying the deep furrow between Kingsley's brows as he reads the incident report. Who knew a meal out could go so wrong? "Truly, it wasn't."

I knew how damning the report would be. As an Auror I've taken hundreds of similar reports. Suspect A says this, suspect B claims that. But when suspect A is Harry Potter, shouldn't that count for something?

"Kingsley, for Merlin's sake –"

He cuts me off with a glare, and I fall silent as he returns to his reading. The law wizards are conferring quietly, and every so often I hear snatches of their conversation. It probably should be reassuring, the way they're bandying about words like "diplomatic immunity" and "inconclusive evidence", but it's not. It just goes to reinforce the fact that they don't believe that it was _not_ my fault.

"Where's Malfoy?" I ask, suddenly worried about the git. I haven't seen him since Magical Law Enforcement carted everyone away hours ago.

"Being kept away from _you_, Potter," Kingsley barked, his dark head snapping up in irritation. "All of the suspects are being held separately so no one can corroborate on their stories. You should know that."

I glare at him, feeling stupid for not thinking of that in the first place. Its first semester Auror Academy stuff and I blame my aching head for the lapse. Perhaps I should have accepted Healer they offered when I was brought in.

"I have no story to corroborate," I answer, crossing my arms across my chest instead of cradling my head, which is what I want to do. "We were out to dinner, and a bloke at the table next to us started mouthing off about seeing two men out on what he called a 'date'. A witch at the bar noticed my scar, and leapt a bit too enthusiastically to my defense..."

Kingsley sighs and shoves the paperwork away. This is the same "story" I've been giving for hours, and that's because it's the truth. Malfoy and I had nothing to do with the duel that erupted, nor the Muggle brawl it caused.

"I understand that a breach of this level must be dealt with, but I'm telling you _I had nothing to do with it,_" I emphasize, meeting Kingsley's eyes and dropping my Occlumency shields briefly, letting him see the truth of my statement. I wouldn't do it with the American interrogators earlier, which is one of the reasons the British Ministry was called in. I'm quite particular about who I let poke around in my head, which is probably why Kingsley came himself. "I think both of us managed a few defensive spells and blocks to try to minimize the damage, but other than that, we stayed out of it."

Kingsley nods, and I nearly sigh in relief at the resignation I see in his face. He stands abruptly and strides from the room, leaving me with a pissed off American officer and the law wizards. I let my gaze focus on the table in front of me, not wanting to give anyone more reason than they already have to keep me here even longer. Long minutes pass before the door bangs open again, and I see Malfoy framed in the florescent light. Kingsley looms behind him, still looking furious but no longer doubtful.

"You're both free to go," he says, holding up a hand to stop the protests from the American interrogator. "Your chief's orders. See him if you disagree."

The stout wizard leaves quickly, no doubt to appeal the decision with his commanding officer. I plan to be far away from here by the time that happens, though, so I stand quickly, stumbling as the pain in my head spikes and makes me dizzy.

"Potter, you're going to see a Healer," Kingsley snaps, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward a sparsely furnished room down the corridor.

Malfoy follows closely behind, apparently not eager to remain in the MLE station any more than I am. We crowd into the designated Apparition room, and I see Malfoy tense as Kingsley grabs hold of his arm. A few uncomfortable seconds later we're in an unfamiliar room with two beds that smells a bit like mildew.

"Your new accommodations," Kingsley announces snidely, grinning when Malfoy's mouth hangs open I outrage. "Before you say anything, this is not negotiable, Mr. Malfoy. If you wish to finish your interviews with Auror Potter, this will be where it happens. He is needed back in the field, and I'm sure your publishing company is none too happy with the delay. You'll remain here since the American authorities haven't officially declared you cleared as suspects. As soon as that happens, you'll receive an escort back to London."

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 19:**

**Draco's POV, approx. two hours later**

"Damn it, Malfoy, put your wand down." Potter almost sounds like he's begging and I can't deny that I like the sound of that. I've always wondered what it would be like to have Potter surrender to me, how he'd react if confronted with the fact that I'm the one who's holding the reins, not him.

I have him backed up against the wall with his hands magically bound to the wall and I don't intend to let him go any time soon. His wand is in my hand and I'm idly playing with it whilst my own is firmly pointed at Potter's chest, and I have every intention of using it. This whole fiasco is entirely Potter's fault and I've waited long enough for my revenge. I patiently sat out my time in custody until Kingsley came to escort me and Potter to this shithole and I stood back whilst the Healer checked on Potter and practically force-fed him some painkilling potion to reduce his headache.

"I've no intention to." I glare at Potter and, taking two steps forward, I rest the tip of my wand in the centre of Potter's chest. "You're going to pay for this, Potter. I could be sat on my bed in the hotel suite, writing on the book. Instead I'm stuck," I look around myself and shudder. "In a shithole here with you of all people."

"I thought you didn't mind living with me?" Potter frowns at me, and for the split of a second there's a look in his eyes that sends a rush of compassion through my body. Potter's hurt. My words dug deeper than I thought. Apparently Potter's not quite as though as I thought. He does know how to mask his true feelings, I'll give him that.

"We weren't living together, Potter! We were sharing a hotel suite with separate bedrooms… This shithole here is an enlarged broom cupboard."

"Blame Kingsley, he locked us in here," Potter sighs, and I watch with amusement as he, once again, begins to struggle against the invisible restraints that I've charmed around his wrists. The original spell conjures up a set of Slytherin green silk scarves, but I've experimented with the spell throughout the last year or two and I have to admit that the result pleases me greatly.

"Believe me, Potter, I will. But first I'll deal with you," I smirk and, taking another step forward, I push my knee in-between Potter's legs, forcing them apart.

"Malfoy…" Potter protests but sucks in a sharp breath when I give him a predatory smile.

"You're going to pay for the ruined dinner, the hours I spend locked up waiting for Kingsley to show up, this shithole here and the fact that my laptop is back in the hotel suite and I'm unable to write," I snarl and, with a quick swish of my wand, I Banish Potter's clothing, leaving him standing up against the wall stark naked.

"Malfoy…" Potter protests again, but I shake my head.

"Another word, Potter, and I'll add a gag to the restraints," I whisper, and it's with glee that I watch Potter bite his lip hard and struggle against the bonds. I can tell he hates being unable to control or influence the situation. I also know that he's fervently trying to come up with a wandless spell to free himself from the bonds, but he won't manage, I'm sure of that. Potter's mine for the taking and he can do crap about it. I'm finally in control and I'm gonna show him just what I think of his recent behavior. He needs to be told a lesson and fast. "Good. Keep it up and I might even reward you." I smile and, leaning in, I brush my lips against Potter's, who is eager to try and kiss me but I pull away before he gets the chance to do so. "Did you forget already? I'm calling the shots," I whisper, and Potter instantly bites his lips and glares. He looks somewhat…

I abandon that thought and stepping back, I loosen the clasp at the top of my robes and, letting the expensive garment slide down my shoulders, I catch it and throw it over one of the beds before sinking down onto the other. Kicking my shoes off, I pull my feet onto the bed and lean against the uncomfortable headboard. Eyeing Potter up and down, I lick my lips at the sight of his arousal. Trust Potter to get hyped about being tied up and threatened with a gag. Flicking my wand, I watch Potter squirm as invisible hands tease his nipples and ghost over his chest and upper body.

"Remember, Potter, not a word," I remind my victim and flick my wand to add another set of invisible hands – these caress Potter's thighs and calves. A third flick conjures up a set of hands that caress Potter's bound arms and neck and with a chuckle I reach for a pillow and push it behind my back – now this is so much more comfortable. I watch Potter squirm and it is really quite amusing. He's trying his best to move away from the feather-light touches but he doesn't quite manage. He's also trying to keep quiet and his cock doesn't like the fact that my spell is so blatantly ignoring him… but as I said, Potter, it is payback time and I'm going to make damn sure that you'll suffer a great deal before you'll get some satisfaction. You deserve no less. I told you I'd get you and now that I have you I'm going to have some fun with you.

Waving my wand, I watch Potter suck in a sharp breath when one of the invisible hands wraps itself firmly around 'his cock and strokes the hard length, teasing it. I watch the precome leaking from the tip and, flicking my wand, I make sure that an invisible finger gathers the juice and spreads it all over Potter's cock. The sight is intoxicating and I shuffle uncomfortably – my trousers are suddenly way too tight. I'm itching to do something about my own predicament, but I want to focus on Potter first. I want to make sure to drive him wild before I tend to my own needs. Conjuring up a glass of Firewhisky, I glance at Potter's face and smile.

He's struggling so much already, I don't think he's going to last very long… not if I keep this treatment up. To make matters worse, I flick my wand again and another of the invisible hands begins to knead Potter's firm arse and to tease the puckered flesh around his entrance. Now I really have him where I want him. He's not going to be able to keep quiet for much longer. He will lose, and then I'll get to play dirty with him!

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 20:**

**Harry's POV, same night**

Fuck, I think I might die of embarrassment. The Pain Potion the Healer gave me has made me a bit loopy, and somehow Malfoy managed to tie me up. It's shameful, really. I'm an Auror, for fuck's sake! If Kingsley saw me now he'd probably fire me – letting _Malfoy_ of all people get the drop on me. Christ, I'm losing my edge.

He's going on and on about his clothes and his laptop and his fancy beauty products ("good grooming, Potter," he snarked at me when I made fun of him – good grooming my arse! I've seen many of those same products in Ginny's bathroom) as if he'll never see them again. What a bloody moron. Doesn't he realize someone from the department – hopefully not Kingsley, because I really _might_ die if he sees me like this – will be bringing them by shortly?

I want to do something – anything – to shut him up, but suddenly I'm being caressed by invisible hands from all angles. My knees go weak when one of them closes around my cock, and suddenly I'm grateful for the way he's bound me to the wall – it's the only way I'm staying upright at the moment.

Oh, fuck. He's lounging on the bed, and that self-satisfied smirk looks sexy as hell on his face. I can see his arousal tenting his trousers, and I wonder if I should use one of the wandless spells in my repertoire to divest him of his clothes. It would be only fair, after all. Oh Jesus, I barely hold back a scream when one of the spelled fingers teases at my entrance, slipping inside without preamble. I hear Malfoy laughing across the small room, and my eyes flick open just in time to see him take a sip of his Firewhisky. The way his throat works as he swallows is unbelievably erotic, and that seems to be my tipping point.

I whisper the spell with a growl, enjoying the way Malfoy's eyes widen as his clothes suddenly disappear. I can see from his calculating look that he's only now remembering that I have no problem using wandless magic for more … intimate … types of spells. He retaliates by gagging me, just as he promised he would if I uttered another word. I take great satisfaction in wiping the smile off his face with the wandless, wordless Lubrication Spell I perfected last year. He yelps in surprise and then moans when I follow it up with a wordless Stretching Spell as well. This hadn't been the application I'd had in mind when I learned the wandless, wordless magic – I rather thought my mouth would be occupied by kissing, not a gag – but they work perfectly well like this.

I was so caught up in torturing Malfoy that I forgot to be on the look-out for visitors. The finger in my arse speeds up its own ministrations, probably mimicking the sensations my spells are causing him. A particularly loud moan from Malfoy mostly masks the crack of someone Apparating in, but I still have enough of my wits about me to snap to awareness at the sound.

As luck would have it, Kingsley chose to send his assistant in his stead. I sigh in relief, my cheeks blazing with embarrassment at being seen naked and bound, the green silk gag still tightly wrapped around my mouth and my rock hard cock jutting out. Malfoy scrambles ungracefully on the bed, pulling the scratchy duvet around him to conceal his own state of undress and arousal.

"Jesus God!" The man I know only as Andrews yelps with his wand out as though searching for some invisible enemy. Probably a reasonable reaction to Apparating into a supposedly secure room and finding the Savior of the Wizarding World bound and gagged.

He finally frees my mouth after several mumbled attempts to explain, and for some reason the loss of the flimsy gag, the only cover I had, makes me even more embarrassed.

"Andrews," I say, trying to sound as professional as I can.

He watches me for another long moment, his eyes carefully kept to my shoulders and above, before nodding.

"The Minister sent me with your things," he says, still addressing me instead of the lump of covers on the bed. "If you need anything else –"

"We've everything we need," I say quickly, cutting him off. He gives me a lopsided smile and winks, making me cringe.

"I'll let the Minister know," he says, and my throat closes up in panic. "That you have everything you need, that is."

I swallow hard, barely managing a polite nod before he Disapparates. I watch the empty space he occupied only seconds before, my mortification still sweeping over me in waves. I am going to _kill_ Malfoy.

"He's gone," I say unnecessarily. Surely Malfoy heard him leave, even underneath the mound of bed clothes he pulled over himself.

"Yes," Malfoy says, still not moving.

"Get your arse out here and untie me, you fuck!" I yell, kicking out at the wall behind me in frustration. My erection is long gone, and I no longer find any amusement in my predicament.

"Can't."

I growl, pulling at the restraints again. It makes them tighten on my wrists, and I can feel my fingers start to tingle. He has to untie me soon or I'll lose all feeling in them.

"Get. Up." I can feel my magic swirling around me, and if I get angry enough I may just be able to loosen the bonds myself. Malfoy has no _idea_ what he's in for if that happens.

"No," he answers, sounding absolutely pitiful and dejected.

I growl again, gathering my magic and lashing out with it. There is no spell, but I manage to make the bonds fall away through sheer force of will. As soon as I'm free I tear toward the bed, stumbling slightly on legs that have gone prickly with disuse.

"Malfoy, I swear to God, when I –"

My words die on my lips when I pull the covers back, exposing a red-faced Malfoy. He's curled up underneath, but I can see his still hard cock, which he tries to cover with his hands.

"Jesus, Malfoy," I spit, unable to believe what I'm seeing. He's still hard after all that. "Do you get off on embarrassment or something?"

This feels like revenge for the way he mocked my sensitivity to magic, and I feel my own erection begin to return at the thought of tormenting him with it.

"Don't tell me – you like being watched?" Malfoy whimpers on the bed, and another surge of blood fills my cock. "Should I call him back? Ask him to watch?"

Malfoy's blond head snaps up, his grey eyes burning as he glares at me, but he can't hide the way my words have affected him.

"I'm sure he'd be willing –"

"Shut the fuck up, Potter," he snaps, grabbing the blankets from my hands and wrapping them around himself toga-style before standing to stalk across the room.

He uses his wand to summon his trunk, directing it into the bathroom before following it and slamming the door. I hear the shower start after a few minutes of banging around. Sighing, I open my own trunk to grab a pair of trousers to step into, just in case Kingsley or Andrew comes back. There's also a small pile of memos from the Auror Office and a few new spell conduct manuals, probably courtesy of Kingsley, since I doubt Andrews would know what to do with them. As the minutes tick by and Malfoy still doesn't appear, I settle back against the uncomfortable hotel chair and crack open the fattest manual, happy to wait him out. After all, there's only one room. It's not as though he could escape.

TBC


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 21:**

**Draco's POV, early the next morning, after breakfast**

"Are you intending to hush up for much longer?" Potter's cuts through the silence and pausing in my assault on my laptop's keyboard, I raise my head slightly but refrain to give Potter the satisfaction of actually looking at him. Instead I'm firmly staring at his name – at the top of the page of the word document I have open. I spent nearly all night writing and I'm absolutely exhausted and just want to sleep, but at this stage I'll do anything to avoid having to speak to Potter. It's not that I'm embarrassed about what happened late last night – I might have been then, but I've digested that fact – however none of my lovers ever found out any of my sexual preferences if I didn't want them to know… Hang on…! Holy fuck! Did I just refer to Potter as my _lover_? Ugh! No! That thought just makes me shudder. Anything but that! I'd kill him sooner! He and I are just not compatible. Our recent forced stint in one another's presence clearly proved that…

Though I have to admit... with Potter around things seem to forever stay fresh. I can't quite judge him the way I'd like to. Whenever I think I've discovered everything there is to know about him, he surprises me with something entirely unexpected. It is exciting. It's intoxicating… but at the same time I really hate it. It makes me feel vulnerable – not that I'd ever confess that to Potter. Though he seems to have a knack for finding out things about me that I don't want anyone to know – especially not him! Oh I'm so going to get him for last night. But when I do, I'll make damn sure to take any possibilities in account. When I get my revenge nobody is going to walk in on us. Nobody is going to disturb us and give Potter a reason to discover facts about me that give him more power than he should rightfully have!

I'm torn from my musing about my revenge by Potter having the cheek to crawl onto my bed. I watch him take my laptop out of my hand, and even though everything in me screams at my hands to hold on to my property, my fingers don't even twitch. Paralyzed, I watch Potter carefully set my laptop down – amazed that he cares enough to make sure nothing happens to the gem that currently holds my future. Once the laptop is out of the way he crawls up to me and pushing my legs apart he crawls in-between them and braces himself on his arms, bringing his face within inches of mine. I can feel his breath on my lips and it makes me gasp even though I want to stay composed, even though I want to keep my cold, aristocratic attitude about me – damn bloody Potter for getting under my skin. He makes it almost impossible to keep up the façade. He has this way of getting to me when I least want him to. It's infuriating.

"Talk to me," Potter whispers, and I shudder at the thickness of his voice. It's lathered with sensuality and it shocks me right through to the core. Even though I want to disobey I find myself opening my mouth to speak. But when I want to tell Potter to fuck off, to back off, and to return my personal space to me, my throat constricts and I'm unable to utter even just a single word. "Come on…" Potter urges and I try again but to no avail. I've lost all control over myself and I hate myself for it. Yes, Potter's definitely wormed his way under my skin, to a place where I least want him to be. "Draco Malfoy, talk to me," Potter mumbles and it's only now that I notice that his lips are less than an inch away from mine. I can smell Potter's minty breath – without a doubt the taste of his toothpaste – and it turns me on. It fucking turns me on and there's crap I can do about it.

"I…" I manage a pathetic attempt at obeying Potter and my cheeks flush with what I can only presume is embarrassment.

"Come on, Malfoy. My cock's been up your arse. Your cock's been up my arse. No need to go all shy now."

I want to punch him, I really do, I want to wipe that smug grin of his face, but I'm of course not in any fit state to do so. Damn you, Potter! Damn you! I really hate you! I hate what you do to me! I hate that you're so cocky! I hate that you managed to get under my skin! I hate that I'm bound to you until I've written my book! I hate that I need you to cash in my next pay check! I hate you with every fiber of my body! I hate you more than anyone could possibly hate you!

Potter chuckles at my unresponsiveness and before I know what's going on, his lips are on mine and he's kissing me. His tongue pries my lips apart and he winds his way into my mouth and duels my tongue. His hand is on my hip before I can stop it and he's insistently pushing me backwards. I fall willingly and, spreading my legs wider, I wantonly allow him to have me. My arms unlock and automatically wrap themselves around Potter's firm upper body. My fingers clutch at his shirt and I kiss him back with every ounce of strength I've left inside of me. Potter's erection's rubbing up against mine and it's driving me wild. He's driving me wild. He's thrusting, moving ever so slowly and even though I'm eagerly meeting his thrusts, he ignores my body's plea to go faster, to provide some sort of pleasure. He's teasing me and it's sending thrill after thrill down my spine.

He knows that he's got complete control over me. He knows he could do whatever and I wouldn't be able to fight back. I know he knows and that knowledge makes me tense. I'm just waiting for the second he takes advantage of the hold he has on me. But surprisingly he doesn't go down that route. Damn you, Potter! Damn you! Why can't I read you? Why can't I tell what you're up to? Why am I letting you do this to me? That was never part of the plan when you puked all other yourself after your binge drinking session more than six months ago! You're a deal breaker, Potter, that's what you are!

I gasp into the kiss when suddenly all of my clothes are gone and Potter's too. Suddenly it's heated, naked skin against heated naked skin and the feeling is lush. It's driving me up the wall and I can barely take it. Potter hasn't once broken away from the kiss, yet we're both naked and he's moving rhythmically, bringing me closer and closer to the edge. I'm so turned on, it's scary. My hold on Potter is to strong that it would take magic to pry me away from him and I yelp when a Lubrication Spell and Stretching Spell hits me and before I know it Potter's penetrated me and his rock hard cock is sheathed deep inside me.

My legs automatically wrap themselves around Potter's hips and, digging my nails into Potter's back, I scratch him involuntarily when he begins to thrust, making me arch my back. He's in no rush to complete what he's started and I'm really not sure how much longer I'll be able to hold out. No-one's ever done this to me. No-one's ever taken me this way; no-one's ever dared to take me by surprise in such a blunt way. I should've sensed what Potter was up to and I probably did but I didn't even attempt to fight Potter off.

And oh sweet Jesus! Potter's thrusts are driving me wild. I want to wrench my lips away from that kiss and I want to tell Potter to get a move on, to make me come, but I cannot convince myself to be the first to break that kiss. Potter's kissing me in a way that should be forbidden, it's intoxicating and I'm so addicted that I feel like I'll fall into a deep black abyss if Potter ever dares to break that kiss. I did already have the pleasure to discover that Potter's a good kisser, but this kiss breaks all the records. This is a killer kiss. It's deadly and I don't want to miss a second of that sweet torture. Potter's using just the right mix of lips, tongue and teeth to make this kiss a mind-blowing experience.

Here I am. A grown man, who's had his fair share of men, yet I feel like I've never kissed anyone in my life before. Damn you, Potter! Damn you!

My orgasm takes me by surprise. I'm pulled over the edge so suddenly that any tell-tale sign that should've warned me, prepared me, melts into the great pull that I feel in my navel as my orgasm explodes and I come so hard that I have to break the kiss to fill my lungs with air. I'm panting so hard and my whole body is trembling. My legs fall from Potter's hips and my arms limply drop onto the mattress. Millions of tiny explosions are going off all through my body, but Potter doesn't seem to care. He's steadily driving into me, making sure to hit my prostate. The feeling just doubles all the sensations and before I can bite my lips, a single name slips from them.

"Harry." It's just a whisper but it makes me shudder. And it seems to have the same effect on Potter. His eyes open suddenly and he stares down at me with his vibrant green eyes as he lets out a loud groan. He arches his back and drives into me with such a force that I'm shaking beneath him. And then he comes – shooting his load deep into me and filling me with his hot juices. He slumps on top of me and even though that's very unlike me, I catch him and hold him as he buries his face in the crook of my neck and tries to come down from his high…

TBC


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 22:**

**Harry's POV, two weeks later**

Lips whisper over my skin, my arousal building as the feathery touches circle closer to my groin. Soft hair brushes teasingly against my shaft, making me moan in frustration when the touch disappears. He's clearly out to torture me tonight, and I'm enjoying every second of it.

"Please," I beg, not caring that my voice trembles with need. He's heard it often enough now, taunting me about it has lost its appeal. At least that's what I suspect; it's been awhile since we've had a heated exchange over anything more volatile than the grocery bill.

"Please what?" he murmurs, the hot caress of his breath against my hip making me shudder. Maybe I was wrong. The bastard's clearly going to make me spell everything out tonight.

"Please touch me," I groan, my hips bucking up of their own accord to get my aching cock closer to his lips. "Please let me fuck your mouth. Please fuck _me."_

I hear him laugh; a sound that used to make me angry but now only serves to heighten my arousal. It's astounding how much we've changed. Or maybe _he_ hasn't changed at all, I think as sharp teeth nip at the tender skin of my inner thigh. Maybe _I'm_ the only one who has.

"Please," I say again, abandoning any bit of pride I have left in hope of getting him to do something, anything, to relieve the tension that's flowing through me.

"Of course," he answers, and I open my eyes just in time to see the wicked grin he shoots me before swirling his tongue through the precome that has gathered on the head of my cock. Pleasure shoots through me in electric jolts, and I arch up off the bed in surprise and arousal. I nearly lose my load when I feel his teeth scrape carefully over the sensitive skin, just the right mix of pleasure and pain. His left hand comes up to cup my shaft, the gold of his wedding band glinting in the low light. "Anything for you, love."

I jolt awake, tossing aside the sweat-soaked blankets as I swing my feet over the side of the bed. My heart is racing, the words from my dream echoing in my head over and over. Anything for you, _love._ I take a deep breath, willfully ignoring my painful erection as I pad toward the bathroom. Married to Malfoy? It takes me half a minute to realize I'm back at Grimmauld Place, which has finally been completely done up, and not in the cramped hotel room I shared with Malfoy in Florida. I'm so shaken from my dream that I have a hard time processing what I'm doing back in London.

A crash from the kitchen sends my adrenaline coursing again, and I grab a pair of sleep trousers from the bureau to hide my nakedness as I creep toward the sound, my wand already in my hand. Some irrational part of me wonders if Malfoy's out there, but then I smell the bacon and realize I must still be half-stuck in dreamland to think that Draco Malfoy would be rustling around in the kitchen. I'm a bit disgusted with myself, actually, especially at the way that my waning erection twitches back to the life at the thought of Malfoy in my kitchen and the way I automatically raise my left hand to inspect it, as though I'm sure I might find a matching gold band there. I cringe at the thought, rubbing a hand briskly over my face. Must be remnants of the dream. I hear someone humming to herself softly as I inch down the corridor, and I let my wand arm fall to my side. Hermione.

Mystery intruder solved, I lean heavily against the wall, taking another deep breath as I try to calm my body. As soon as I'm presentable, I dart into the kitchen silently on bare feet. Hermione's back is turned to the door, and she's levitating groceries into my cupboard from a Sainsbury's sack. A feeling of warm domesticity that feels eerily close to the one I felt for dream Malfoy, but I brush it aside viciously. It's just the lag from the time difference and the long Ministry briefing yesterday, I tell myself. Obviously being forced to spend weeks with Malfoy has damaged my psyche.

I steal forward, wrapping my arms around an unsuspecting Hermione's waist and whirling her around. Her startled shriek drives all thoughts of Malfoy from my mind, and I'm filled with nothing but pure joy to be home. She smacks me on the shoulder, blushing darkly at her reaction. As soon as I set her on her feet she summons a steaming pot of tea and motions for me to join her at the table.

I hadn't realized how much I'd missed proper British tea until that moment, when the fragrant aroma wafts up from the cup she holds out to me.

"I think I love you, Hermione. Marry me?" I say, taking a grateful sip of the hot liquid.

Hermione gives me a mock shudder, turning from her chair to point her wand at the range, where she's monitoring the bacon and what looks like a pan of eggs. The scent of toasting bread fills the kitchen, and I watch in amazement as she manages simultaneous spells to butter the toast, flip the eggs and turn the bacon, all while taking a sip of tea. She's more growing more like Molly every day, though I'd never dare tell her that.

"I think not," she says primly, using a spell to keep the spoon stirring the pot while she crosses the kitchen to wash lettuce for the salad. "I know where you've been, Harry Potter. Merlin knows what I might catch."

I choke on my tea, coughing so hard my eyes start to tear up. Somehow I'm not surprised she's found out about Malfoy, though I _am_ surprised to hear her comment on it so calmly.

"As if I couldn't figure out what you two would get up to, sequestered in that hotel room for weeks," she scoffs, rolling her eyes. "The real question is what you intend to do now."

The truth is that I'd like the answer to that question as well. Malfoy and I fell into a somewhat easy routine of interviews and sex in the grungy hotel room the Ministry arranged for us. Christ. I've had my cock up his arse and his up mine, but I still call him _Malfoy_. There's obviously nothing between us, no matter what happened in my dream.

Hermione's waiting patiently for an answer, blowing on her tea to cool it before sipping it slowly. She knows me well enough not to rush me, though right now I wish she didn't.

"Back to the normal routine, I suppose," I say with a shrug.

I squirm at the incredulous look she gives me. Unbidden, images of the last two weeks with Malfoy – after the fighting stopped and the no-strings shagging began – flash to the front of my memory. If I didn't know better I'd swear she was using Legilimency, but no one can get past my barriers. I make a mental note to have Kinsley test my shields; if they're faltering, maybe Malfoy slid past and used what he saw there to get under my skin. What other explanation is there? I can't stand him, but I find myself missing his company already. And that blasted dream – _married_ to Malfoy? It certainly hadn't _felt _like a nightmare, but that's the only thing it could be considered.

"Harry," Hermione says, her voice heavy with something dangerously close to pity.

"Hermione," I answer levelly, catching and holding her gaze.

She's silent for long moments, and I worry that she's going to question me further, but surprisingly she gives up.

"So, dinner at the Burrow tonight?"

TBC


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 23:**

**Draco's POV, one week later, Hogwarts**

Oh if I get my hands on that rat he's a dead man, this I swear to you and the rest of the wizarding world! Did he think I was stupid? Did he really believe I wouldn't be able to figure it all out? He gave me enough clues without actually telling me what he was up to when he, Hermione and the Weasel spend a year 'on the run'. All it took was getting Shacklebolt's permission to rummage through Dumbledore's personal library at Hogwarts and now I have my answer. There's no disputing the facts!

I always had a slight suspicion that something about Potter's explanations didn't quite add up and after spending the last five days going over all the interview notes I made and recordings I took – while speaking to Potter about his account of the war – I finally managed to figure it all out. The visit to Dumbledore's library only provided me with solid proof – and some very interesting pictures that I will be adding to the deluxe version of my book. I never thought I'd be forced to walk inside Hogwarts' walls again, but after a stint in my father's personal study left me with inconclusive results, I had no other option.

And now that I have proof, black on white, solid, undeniable proof, I will make sure Potter gets the brunt of my anger. Doesn't Potter even have the slightest idea that it is going to take me at least two weeks to add in all the necessary information about his quest to destroy Voldemort? I've made fantastic progress with the book, but now I can rework about half of the chapters! Oh Potter, you're going to pay for this. Didn't anyone ever tell you that it is highly unadvisable to anger a Malfoy?

Although, to be quite honest, I'm not too sure that anger is even the right word to describe my current feelings. Right this moment I loathe Potter, and if he were here right now I'm sure I'd lose my resolve and I'd fire an Unforgivable Curse at him – damn the consequences. Angry was what I felt _before_ I made the trip out to Hogwarts – desperately hoping against hope that my suspicions were unfounded – now that I know they weren't, I'm… I don't know what I am; really, all I know is that I'm marching into the Ministry of Magic this very afternoon and then Merlin help Potter. I don't care if he's in a meeting or interrogating a suspect or following traces, I will give him a piece of my mind and I will make damn sure that he listens until the very end.

Despite my current mood, I have the decency to side-step a terrified-looking Hufflepuff first-year and, straightening up a little more, I speed up, heading straight for the main entrance hall. I've walked these corridors for long enough to know my way around – even though I haven't been here since my graduation. I never intended to return to this dratted place, but I had no choice. The Hogwarts library and Dumbledore's personal collection are well known to provide answers to very nearly everything. Even the Ministry resorts to looking up information in the Hogwarts library when they at their wits end. You might wonder how I know this… well Potter would be to blame for that; he slipped that piece of information to me during one of our many interviews. I'm sure he had no intention of doing that but he did anyway, and in hindsight his slip provided to be very useful.

With a polite nod at the Bloody Baron, I rush out of the Hogwarts' main entrance and heading across the grounds, I descend the steep downward slope, leading me away from the majestic castle and the towards Hogsmeade. I have no intention of taking the train back to London, but I will Apparate straight into the Leaky Cauldron from Hogsmeade station. From there I will make my way to the Ministry of Magic and then Merlin protect Potter because I won't guarantee anything. Taking the train would probably be a wise decision, it would give me time to calm down, but I have no patience for that. I want to grab Potter by the collar and I want to shake him hard.

I make it into Hogsmeade in record time and rushing down the main street, I head straight for the train station. I politely greet Madame Rosmerta as I pass her pub, but I have no intention of slowing down and stopping for a chat. She seems to sense my rotten mood and doesn't bother waving me over, for which I'm grateful. The moment I arrive at the train station I take a deep breath, and pushing all my thoughts about just how I'm going to murder Potter into the furthest corner of my mind, I concentrate and disapparate from the spot. As intended I reappear in the dirty storage space behind the Leaky Cauldron seconds later and reaching out, I steady myself on the wall and take a few deep breaths. Long distance Apparating is a bitch, I know that, but I had no choice. I could've Flooed but to do that I would've had to walk into the Three Broomsticks – something that I had no intention of doing.

It takes me a minute to calm down and when I'm sure that I'm once again steady on my feet, a cast a Scourgify on my filthy hands, and straightening up I emerge from the storage area and make way into the Leaky Cauldron. I greet Tom as I rush by him and make my way out onto Charing Cross Road. I've a good bit to walk, but at least I'm in London.

Needless to say, I make my way to the visitor's entrance of the Ministry of Magic in record time and before long I'm standing in the Atrium. Ugh, I hate this place, I really do. It's busy, it's cramped and the constant noise of the countless Flooing in and out of the Ministry drives me up the wall. I allow myself to wonder how Potter stands having to spend most of every day here, but then I quickly remember that I have a bone to pick with him. I do not pity Potter. It really figures that he would crawl after the Minister! That's just Potter for you. I really am surprised that nobody has coped on just how Slytherin Potter actually is. He's a sly, sneaky and lying bastard and I'm going to rip his head off in a minute.

It doesn't take me much to blend in with my crowd and making my way over to the lifts, I join the group of people heading for the next lift. Did I mention that I hate those lifts as much as I hate the Atrium? If not, well you know now. Thank Merlin, the journey is short and moments later I step out of the lifts on Level Two of the Ministry of Magic – The Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It appears that I have joined the right group of people at the right time. Now, the question's just where to go? I don't actually know where exactly on this floor Potter's office is – it definitely doesn't seem to be with the open plan offices to my left and I've never had the need to seek him out.

Thankfully a secretary, laden with a pile of documents, chooses exactly that moment to walk into my direction and politely stopping her, I give her a dazzling smile and wink when she flushes with embarrassment – ugh women! They're just so easy to impress. "Say, you wouldn't know where Auror Potter's office is?" I ask her and her first reaction is to giggle – I'm not quite sure whether it's my smile that's making her giggle or the thought of Potter. I just about manage to refrain from rolling my eyes at her ridiculous behavior – instead I smile, again.

"Of course, down the corridor the first door to the right. I just picked these up from his office," she duly answers my question and even gives me information that I really don't need.

"Thank you." I wink again and side-stepping her, I hurry down the corridor, ignoring the chatter coming from the open plan offices to my left. I know she's staring after me, but I couldn't care any less. All I care about is getting Potter to explain himself, and I'm pleased to know that he's in his office. I reach the end of the corridor in no time at all and checking the name on the door to my right, I turn the knob and barge in. "Figures they give the mighty Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World, his own office while everyone else has to share the open plan offices!" I growl and kick the door shut behind me.

Potter does a double take in his seat, splutters and actually drops his coffee mug onto an open file in front of him. He curses out loud and when he draws is wand to clean up the mess; I swiftly disarm him and Accio his wand to me. Swishing my own wand, I clean up the spilled coffee and rounding Potter's desk; I grab Potter by the collar and drag him up. I roughly shove him up against his desk and glaring hard I fix my wand on him – I have every intention of using it if Potter causes any sort of trouble. "Horcruxes! Bloody fucking Horcruxes! Why didn't you tell me?" I snap and Potter's eyes widen with surprise.

"How did you…?" he asks and I push him harder against his desk, firmly keeping him in place. He's baffled, lost for words. He clearly didn't expect that I'd be able to add one and one together with two as the result instead of five.

"Dumbledore's personal library. Besides I'm not stupid, I know you were fucking leading me on! Chasing artifacts my fucking arse, Potter! You, Granger and the Weasel were hunting Horcruxes! Voldemort made Horcruxes to gain immortality! And you fucking kept that from me? Are you completely barking mad? Don't you think that the world deserves to know what a beast that man was? What horrendous things he did? What a sick mind he had and just what he was capable off? The worst we can do is to keep such things from the world, keep people in the dark!" I am just about managing to keep myself from yelling. I'd really love to kick up a big fucking fuss, but the last I want is a bunch of Aurors charging into Potter's office, dragging me off him. I'm not yet finished with him.

"Kingsley, Hermione and Ron are the only people who know," Potter sighs. "Let go of me, Malfoy. Return my wand and I'll explain."

"The fuck I will!" I snarl and shake Potter.

"Malfoy, must I resolve to wandless magic again? I will manage to shove you off me and you really don't want go to flying across my office and end up in St. Mungo's with a series of broken bones."

I weigh my options for a good minute before I eventually let go of Potter, take a step back and, straightening out my suit, I laugh when Potter holds out his hand, clearly expecting me to hand him his wand back. Really, Potter isn't that great an Auror if someone can simply barge into his office and disarm him while he is brooding over boring files and drinking coffee. "Your wand remains in my custody until you give me a satisfactory explanation!" I snap and gracefully sliding into Potter's extremely comfortable office chair, I cross my legs and toying with Potter's wand I wait, expectantly.

Potter hesitates for a few long moments but eventually he sighs, crosses his arms over his chest and half sits down on top of his desk. "I didn't tell you because I don't want people to know. Horcruxes are the devil's instruments and thankfully not many people know about them these days. I'd like to keep it that way. I don't want a repeat performance of what Voldemort did, Malfoy. Dealing with one sick bastard in my life time is quite enough."

"Well tough luck, because I intend to write about them." I glare at Potter, and it's with satisfaction that I watch a fear flicker across his face.

"No, Malfoy, no, no, no. You will not write about the Horcruxes," Potter says vehemently and his whole body shudders. I can tell he doesn't like the memory of his hunt for the Horcruxes back when he was just seventeen. I instantly remember his long pauses during our interviews, when we covered his, Grangers and the Weasel's travels across Britain, and I now know which memories he was trying to keep looked up in the back of his mind. "You will not tell every wizard and witch and every child in the wizarding world what Voldemort did. You will pretend you never ever found out or else I will have you Obliviated and deported to the Arctic – without your wand, this I promise you." Potter's voice is low and I can tell that his threat isn't an empty one. But I'm not scared. I fully intend to write about the Horcruxes and Potter and his threats or the Minister isn't going to stop me.

"You can threaten me all you like, Potter, I will write about what Voldemort did. People deserve to know. The knowledge of what Voldemort was capable of doing is going to hit the wizarding world like a bomb. They're going to think trice next time some idiot comes along and tries to brainwash them."

"Or you'll get a bunch of people trying to copy Voldemort because they think he was cool," Potter sighs, and I watch him reach for his coffee mug. Pushing himself away from his desk he walks over to an ordinary Muggle coffee machine and pours himself some fresh coffee. The delicious scent wafts over to me and my stomach instantly complains about how hungry it is as I realize that I haven't eaten since this morning.

"It might interest you to find out that I have dedicated a whole chapter to Voldemort's vile actions and to get an accurate account of how he treated his followers I have made a trip to Azkaban to speak to surviving ex-Death Eaters. Even my father was willing to make a statement."

Slowly turning on his heel, Potter slowly advances on me and his vibrant green eyes glow with curiosity. "I didn't know…" he says hesitatingly, clearly baffled by what he just discovered.

"You never asked. I would've shown you," I find myself responding and leaning further back in Potter's comfortable chair, I smile. "You may have a copy of the manuscript and work with me on changes if you allow me to include the Horcruxes. I will grant you permission to do the first edit of the book before I'm signing off on it and handing it over to my editor to have it proof-read." I add and I'm quite surprised as to why I've just said that. I never had any intentions on allowing Potter to suggest changes to my book, so I really don't know what possessed me to make him such a promise.

Though maybe I do. I kinda miss his company. After those two weeks in the cramped hotel room and all the time we spent in the hotel suite, I've kind of grown accustomed to having Potter around – even though it pains me very much to admit that. There's just something about Potter's company that makes me crave more, though I'm only very grudgingly admitting this to myself and would never say it aloud. And it's even more grudgingly that I admit that Potter's company isn't even half as bad as I initially thought. I mean, if I managed to survive two solid weeks of sharing a bed and bathroom with Potter… who knows what I'm capable of. I was after all capable of shagging Potter and allowing him to shag me! And boy the memories of those heated nights make me shuffle uncomfortable. There's no doubt that Potter knows how to fuck and kiss!

"That is bribery, Malfoy, and I'm not so sure I'm willing to let you get away with that."

"Well, it's either that or I'll include the mention about the Horcruxes, sign off on the book, hand it to my editor, get it proof-read and make sure it goes into print ASAP without you getting your hands on it before it's available at Flourish & Blotts." I shrug and inspect Potter's wand with mild interest. "It's your choice entirely, Potter."

"Malfoy, you're walking on dangerous ground."

"I'm not scared of you, Potter." I smile.

"You should be. If that book goes into print without me having checked all the references made about the Horcruxes, I will personally hunt you down and quarter you and feed you to the alligators at Everglades National Park," Potter says, and I involuntarily shudder at his words. I've no doubt about the fact that Potter would actually go through with this – that man is unpredictable at the best of times.

"Does that mean you accept my offer?" I ask.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Yes," I chuckle. "But it wouldn't be wise one."

"Name a time, date and place and we'll discuss the matter of the addition of the new information to your book."

TBC


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 24:**

**Harry's POV, six weeks later, Harry's house**

I rub at my eyes, trying to get the blurry words in front of me to rearrange themselves into something that makes sense. More than a month ago when I harangued Malfoy into giving me first editing rights for his book I had no clue about how the publishing industry worked. Now, I'm intimately acquainted with the ins and outs of it, though at the moment I find myself fervently wishing I wasn't.

"Come to bed, Harry," a voice calls out of the darkened bedroom, and for a moment I consider it. A good hard shag would do wonders for my tense muscles and pounding headache. But I've had this draft for two weeks already, and I know it won't be too much longer before it's ripped away from me, my protests about the sensitive material notwithstanding.

"I can't," I answer, and I can hear the anger and disappointment in the growl that issues forth from the down the corridor. He won't wait for me much longer, and I don't just mean tonight. I've been stringing him along ever since my return, never giving him my full attention or consideration.

"I'm sorry, Justin," I say, flinching as he storms out of the darkness, struggling on one foot as he tries to hastily don his trousers. I can tell from the stony look on his face that he's reached his breaking point. Instead of being contrite, I find I'm relieved.

"Too bad you can't fuck Malfoy's book," he hisses at me, glaring daggers at the laptop I bought expressly so I could review Malfoy's manuscript. I look over at it, a memory of my surprise that Malfoy used the Muggle device flashing through my mind.

"That's all you think about anyway, that and the meetings you have with him every day. Is this book more important than our relationship, Harry? Do we even _have_ a relationship, or was I just a convenient outlet to fuck when your prick gets tired of reading?"

We definitely don't have a relationship, but I hardly think it would be wise to say so. Let him think I'm too self-centered to be together, or that the demands of my job are too great to allow for a relationship. Suddenly I feel a wave of guilt at the way I've been using him. He wanted me all through school, of that I'm certain. It's why I hardly felt any compunction at all about using him for sex. How I ever thought Justin Finch-Fletchley could be a substitute for fucking Draco Malfoy, I'll never know. He has a gorgeous arse but none of the fire and bite that Malfoy does. It's amazing that Justin never put two and two together and realized I only fucked him after my near-daily meetings with Malfoy. I'd never have been able to slip that past _Malfoy. _

Fuck, Malfoy. The strain of being so tantalizingly close to the best lay I've ever had without being able to touch him – or to fight about anything other than the book, since we've both made it clear we're _not_ together and never were, and that our time in that seedy little hotel room was just a bit of meaningless fun – has driven me to insane lengths. Like "dating" Justin.

"It just didn't work out, Justin," I hear myself say, wondering where the words are coming from. The gentle tone doesn't even sound like me. "I wish it had. You're a fabulous bloke. But I'm just not suited for this, not right now, at least."

Not with _you_ is what I want to say, but the words ricochet around my head unspoken. It would be horribly cruel to tell him I only fucked him because I couldn't let myself admit who I _really _wanted to fuck. Even _I_ have my limits, despite the fact that Ron and Hermione have been complaining that I'm acting more and more like Malfoy every day.

I've said the right things, apparently, because I can see Justin's posture soften. The good old "it's not you, it's me" speech was practically created for Hufflepuffs. Give to a Slytherin or a Gryffindor and you'd risk getting your balls hexed off; give it to a Ravenclaw and you'd get a twenty minute dissertation on why your logic was flawed. But give it to a Hufflepuff and you'd get sympathy and an easy out.

"I'm sorry, Harry," he says, and part of me wants to scream at him for being so soft-hearted. "This must be hard for you as well. I don't mean to add to your stress."

He crosses back across the darkened room, and I can see his complete sincerity highlighted in the glow from my laptop screen. It's revolting.

"Perhaps we're better off as friends," he says, bending to peck me on the cheek. I steel myself so I don't recoil.

"If you think that's best," I say, offering him a sad smile, which he returns.

"I'll owl you," he says, looking at me sadly as he steps into the Floo.

I sigh in relief when the green flames ebb. Alone at last. What the fuck was I thinking? How many times had I wished for solitude during my exile with Malfoy? A dozen? A hundred? And then I tangle myself up with the neediest bloke I've ever met two weeks after I return to London. It wouldn't have been more than a one-night stand if it hadn't been for Malfoy's reaction when he saw us together – _weeks_ I spent trying any method I could to get under his skin, and all it takes is a date with a Hufflepuff. I smirk, settling down on the sofa with my laptop. Blast it all, I'll have to start this chapter over. I haven't retained a word I've read.

TBC


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 25:**

**Draco's POV, four days later, late afternoon, Malfoy Manor, Draco's study**

"Would you fucking cut out the bloody pacing!" I snap at Potter, who stops dead in his track and turns to look at me – clearly quite shocked at the way I just spoke to him. "You're making nervous, Potter, I can't concentrate." I glare and giving Potter a pointed look, I turn my gaze back to my laptop screen – Potter was so kind to email me the edited version of the latest chapter of my book after finally having finished it, which I send him – prior to showing up at Malfoy Manor for our latest meeting. Unlike the last time, two days ago, when he showed up in his formal Auror uniform – flustered and all apologetic for being late – and of course _without_ his notes, questions and suggestions.

Starting at the top of the page, I try to concentrate on the paragraph to take in Potter's suggestions – I have to admit his input has been quite valuable. Of course I've no intention of letting him know that, but so far he really poured his heart, soul and mind into making important comments. He hasn't stepped out of line, and for some reason I doubt he will, but he has been very patient and on the one or other odd occasion he gave me some exclusive insight into things that were still a bit hazy.

I'm tempted to ask him to show me one of his memories in my pensieve, but for the time being I haven't dared to push my luck that far just yet. I'm pretty sure Potter would dig his heels in and refuse point blank to cooperate, so I'm keeping my wish to myself, even though I have to admit that my request has been on the tip of my tongue for the better part of the last week. I'm finding it increasingly difficult to resist the temptation of speaking up. I don't want a memory that includes Voldemort – I don't think I could stand having to see his face again after what he put me through in my sixth and seventh year in Hogwarts. But I would like a memory that would help me understand Potter just that little bit better.

I don't even know why I'm so mad about it, but I can't help it. I want to dive into that memory; I want Potter to share something with me he hasn't shared with anyone. I want Potter to give me something he'd never give another wizard or witch. I can't quite explain why I want what I want, but because I can't deny it either, so I've come to the conclusion that as long as I don't have to admit it out loud I'm safe. I can live with knowing what I want, however I cannot live with someone else knowing about it.

Biting back a sigh, I shake my head and push my thoughts to the back of my mind – this isn't going to help my concentration one bit. And damn it, Potter's pacing again! Merlin, I think I'm going to hex him if he doesn't quit walking a hole into the floor of my study pretty soon.

It is with determination that I push my chair back and, getting up, I straighten myself up to my full height, flex my shoulder muscles and round my desk. Heading to the small bar in the corner of my study, I pour myself a generous Firewhisky and with one quick glance at Potter, I pour him a drink too. Merlin knows he looks like he could do with a stiff drink.

I take a cautious sip of my drink and with Potter's glass in my left hand I make my way across the room to my over-nervous house guest. Blocking his way, I effectively stop him in his tracks. He flinches and looks at me with surprise and some other emotion that I can't quite place. I hesitate for a moment but then I push the drink into his hand and make sure his fingers actually close around the glass properly, instead of letting it drop to the floor. My brief contact with Potter's hand sends odd tingles shooting up my arm and down my spine and I can hardly resist the temptation to shudder. That brief touch brings back memories that I've kept firmly buried deep inside since Potter and I returned from our stint in that seedy little hotel room.

"Drink!" I instruct and Potter obeys without hesitation. "And for the last time, quiet the fucking pacing! What the hell is wrong with you anyway? You act like an army of ants crawled up your arse."

Surprisingly my metaphor for Potter's nervousness makes him chuckle. "Not an army of ants, just the _Daily Prophet_."

I raise my eyebrow with interested. "Has this morning's edition hit Saint Potter where it hurts?"

"Did you read the article?" Potter asks me and I shake my head. I haven't touched the _Prophet_ since way before I started on my book. My mother updates me with what's happening in the wizarding world – she is only too happy to be able to give me a brief summary on the most important things and has been clearly instructed to leave out all the gossip – I'm not interested in that bullocks.

"I don't read the _Prophet_, Potter."

"Just as well," Potter sighs and knocks his Firewhisky back. Accioing the bottle, I fill Potter's glass up once more and thanking me, he knocks that one back too. My, today's update about Potter's private life really seems to have riled our Savior up quite a bit. I'm intrigued. I want to know what happened.

"Spill," I order and instantly find myself wondering why I just said that.

"Justin," Potter sighs and I can't help but glare at Potter. In the last four weeks I've probably fantasized more about hexing Justin Finch-Fletchley to the North Pole – without his wand and clad in only boxer shorts – than I've wanked, and that is saying something. That Justin boy just drives me up the wall. And the fact that he wormed his way into Potter's pants really doesn't sit well with me. I just want to wrap my hands around Finch-Fletchley's throat and strangle him until he takes his very last breath. That boy doesn't deserve Potter and I can't believe that Potter's standards are so low. How could he take a fucking Hufflepuff into his bed? How could he sink so low and fuck a Hufflepuff – how could he? Honestly, I've been desperate in my life, very desperate, but I've never been that desperate. Thank Merlin! I do have my standards and not even the irresistible urge to shove my cock up some hot, tight arse – and fuck said arse till its owner sees stars – has ever had me desperate enough to seek out a Hufflepuff's company for the night.

"Trouble in paradise?" I spit. The least I want to hear is Potter pouring his heart out to me, because I might just have to strangle him too. I'm not his therapist and I've no intention of taking on said job – I've enough to deal with as it is. Potter's mind is far too fucked up – all hope that therapy could help him even just a little bit is well and truly lost.

"What paradise?" Potter frowns. "Justin walked out on me earlier this week and the _Prophet_ is making such a big fucking deal about it that anyone could think I left him standing at the fucking _altar_."

I can't help but laugh at that. I know it's not right and Potter's glare should really sober me up but fuck it, this is just too good! Finch-Fletchley walked out on Potter and the _Prophet_ is giving Potter grief about it. Oh, this is _hilarious_! And I didn't even do anything to wreck up their relationship – I admit that I've toyed with the idea but I really couldn't come up with anything mind-blowing so I didn't make a move. Looks like I don't have to wrack my mind any further though. Finch-Fletchley is finally out of the picture, and if I wasn't laughing so hard or ducking from the jinx Potter just fired at me, I'd be skipping through the Manor with glee.

"What the fuck is so funny, Malfoy?" Potter snarls at me and fires a Jelly-Legs Jinx at me. I side-step it with ease and watch it bounce off the wall and hit the closed – and locked, I might add – door to my study.

Biting my bottom lip hard, I shake myself and stop laughing before Potter starts with the serious jinxes. "The fact that Finch-Fletchley did a kiss and tell on you…" I say as sincerely as I can, but there's a twinkle in my eye that I can't quite hide.

"Who says he did a kiss and tell?" Potter frowns and Accios the Firewhisky bottle – which I wisely put down on my desk before I doubled over laughing – and pours himself his third drink of the evening.

"Come on, Potter. You dumped him. What else do you think he'd go and do? You hurt him! The Savior of the Wizarding world kicked Finch-Fletchley out – you hurt his ego. Of course he's going to pay you back, using the press. It's the only way to rile you up!"

"Being in the same room with you does the job just fine," Potter mutters under his breath before he knocks back his drink and I politely overhear his little nag – for the moment anyway, he will be getting his share for that comment, there's no doubt about that. "And for your information, I _did not_ dump Justin. As I said, he walked out on me."

"Well he'd be a complete and utter idiot to tell the press that. It wouldn't sell his story quite as well now, would it?"

"Justin wouldn't do that." Potter shakes his head pours himself his _fourth_ drink. I wait until he's done pouring his drink, then I Accio the bottle from his hand and place it on the bookshelf.

"Enough with the drink, Potter, we both know what happened the last time you drank too much and came to Malfoy Manor," I chide, and Potter rolls his eyes at me.

"He didn't do a kiss and tell on me, Malfoy. Justin is a good man, he wouldn't do that." Potter shakes his head and I roll my eyes.

"Oh for fuck's sake, Potter, if the press is blowing it completely out of proportion then he did. Are they quoting him?"

"Yes."

"Well then he did a kiss and tell, that's it. They're liable if they quote Justin without having interviewed him. They may misquote him and get off easy, but putting words into somebody else's mouth is a crime!" I give Potter a pointed look and striding across the room; I take Potter's glass from his hands and put it down on the little coffee table next to the comfortable armchair Potter usually sits in when I read over his notes and comments. "Quit the sulky face," I order, and despite my best efforts my voice sounds a lot softer than I'd intended it to sound.

"Is nothing in his world sacred?" Potter sighs heavily and taking a clumsy step backward, he falls into the armchair.

"Not in your world." I shrug, and giving Potter the once over I lick my lips and swallow hard. Merlin, he fucking looks good. The tan he got in Florida has only faded a tiny bit and his muscular features are still as prominent as ever. I wonder if he still works out every day – I wouldn't put it past him. Even though I try – albeit half-heartedly – I can't stop my body from reacting to Potter's and for once I'm very glad that I decided to throw on my green robes before I let Potter in – they hide my current predicament quite well – and thank Merlin for that or I would have some explaining to do! But for the love of everything magical, Potter looks hot, there's no disputing that. It doesn't help that I don't even need to try hard to picture him naked and aroused. I've seen him naked often enough and it's without a doubt the hottest sight I've ever seen.

Glancing at Potter's face, my eyes lock with his and I'm astounded to find my own feelings mirrored on those vibrant green eyes that have been the reason for most of my recent sleepless nights. Suddenly the air around us is crackling with anticipation and I find myself taking a step forward without being able to resist. I can feel the sensations of the arousal, that's floating in the air around us, brush against my bare skin and when Potter's magic – wild and untamed – suddenly flares up, I shiver at the nonexistent breeze.

Before I have a chance to process what's happening, Potter is out of his chair and his lips are one mine. He's kissing me with passion that I haven't experienced since… since… since Potter last fucked me, some two months ago. And I'm kissing him back just as passionately. Now that his lips are on mine, there's no stopping me and to my own surprise my magic, for the first time ever, – wild and uncontrolled just like Potter's – suddenly whips around us. We both shudder with anticipation but instead of pausing, it only serves to heighten the sensations and stumbling about my study we tear at each other's clothing. Buttons fly, material rips and by the time Potter has me pressed up against the door we're both naked, managing to undress each other without the use of magic.

Potter pauses for a moment and I watch him hungrily drinking in my features before he assaults my neck, kissing, biting, licking and sucking. I moan and, slamming my palms against the wood of the door, I willingly expose my neck to Potter's assault. But much to my dismay he's already moved on. He moves along my shoulder, down my chest and when he sucks on my aroused nipple, my knees buckle dangerously. Potter's hands are quick to steady my hips and without the slightest bit of shame he drops to his knees and sucks my hard cock into his mouth. I groan and stare transfixed as Potter eagerly swallows my whole length in pretty much one go and brings one hand down to cup my balls and squeeze them softy.

I last all but two minutes before my knees begin to tremble and, throwing my head back, I lick my dry lips and come on a loud, guttural groan. I shoot my load into Potter's awaiting mouth and even though the blood's rushing in my ears, I can hear and feel Potter swallowing every last drop before he carefully pulls back and my spent cock slips from his bruised, red lips.

Unable to keep myself upright, I slump to the ground and moments later I find myself on my back, my ankles resting on Potter's shoulders and his face inches from mine. I can't say I noticed the Lubrication and Stretching Spell Potter used, but he must've cast them because his cock easily slips inside me and he drives all the into my tight channel, not pausing to allow me to adjust. He brushes that sweet spot deep inside of me and even though I've only just come, my body's once again on fire…

"Fuck!" I pant and wrapping my hands around Potter's neck, I pull him closer, forcing him to kiss me. He does so willingly, though his rhythm doesn't falter – Potter is quite an expert in multi-tasking when it comes to hot, passionate sex and I have to admit that I'm an absolute slut for it.

"I intend to fuck you!" Potter murmurs against my lips and nips at my bottom lip. My first name slips from his lips, much to my astonishment, and though it's barely louder than a shaky breath it feels like Potter just shouted it. I'm on fire and I've never felt so fucking turned on by anyone saying my name. Oh sweet fucking Merlin, I'm rock hard again within seconds! There's no resisting Potter's charms and I'm too busy enjoying Potter's cock driving in and out of me to curse the fact that Potter's thoroughly wormed his way under my skin.

"Good. Fuck me hard," I beg shamelessly. If he stops, if he pauses to tease or draw things out, I swear I will string him up by his balls. I want a good hard fuck!

"I intend to, _Draco_, I'll fuck you so hard you'll still feel me inside you tomorrow night," Potter whispers, and shudder after shudder shocks me right through to the core. I'm unable to comprehend exactly what's going on, but this is by far the hottest fuck of my life! I don't even care that I'm freely admitting that fact or that I'm a total and utter slut for Potter's cock up my arse. Quite frankly I don't care about anything at all, except Potter lips on mine, his roaming hands on my body and his cock shoved up my arse. Even the fact that the carpet is burning my entire back doesn't concern me. The pain blends in perfectly with the immense pleasure of Potter's thrusts and his cock rubbing against that sweet spot within me. I'm in Heaven – this couldn't possibly get any better.

Except that it could. When my second orgasm tears through me, it feels like my whole body is burning, rapidly plunging down a cliff into the surging, angry waves of the ocean below where I'm pulled under by the fierce current. My second load hits Potter's stomach at the exact same time as his load fills me up and he falls forward, completely and utterly spent and most definitely exhausted. Usually I would shove him off me, but right now I couldn't care any less about his body weight on top of mine. My body feels boneless and my eyelids won't stay open no matter what I try. My last conscious thought is that this was not quite what I had in mind when I asked Potter to edit my book, though I definitely don't regret asking him now. Fuck, that man knows how to shag somebody into oblivion and I want to tell him so, but my lips stubbornly only form one word – one name. "Harry." Potter's first name cuts through Potter's and my pants like a sharp knife slashing an animal's throat and with a stupid grin on my lips, I succumb to the intense pull and fall fast asleep right where I am.

TBC


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 26:**

**Harry's POV, later that evening**

I blink groggily, wondering why my usually soft bed is so uncomfortably hard. My knuckles brush against something rough as I stretch, and the realization that this is _not_ my bed – or any bed at all – hits me.

Malfoy is draped over my chest, his cheek warm against my naked skin. I can tell from the evenness of his breath that he's still asleep, and I'm grateful for that. It gives me time to think. The fact that I fell asleep after sex in unfamiliar surroundings is remarkable in and of itself, not even considering that I _know_ I called him "Draco" in the heat of the moment.

I take advantage of his unconsciousness to study him closely. We've had sex dozens of times, but I've never just been able to _look_ at him like this. He's gorgeous, especially since the tension I've seen in his face these last few weeks is gone as he sleeps. His lips are still slightly swollen and bruised from our fierce kisses, and I can see a red patch on his jaw where my stubble must have scraped him. All said he looks well-fucked and relaxed – and _mine_. I like the way I've marked him, from the scratches on his jaw to the purpling bruises on his neck and collarbone that I put there purposefully with nips and hard kisses. I've never let myself go during sex like that with anyone else, always fearful I'd hurt them. Malfoy – _Draco_ – has no trouble holding his own with me, which I find unbelievably arousing.

I hadn't realized how much both of us had been holding back during sex until tonight. It seemed like somehow we broke through all of our own barriers, and the result was mind blowing. My lips curve into a smile as I remember the way he said my name afterward. I didn't even know how much I _wanted_ him to say my name until he did.

I run my fingertips down his bare arm, stopping when he murmurs something in his sleep and snuggles even closer against me. He asked me earlier why I cared so much about what the _Prophet_ was publishing about my relationship with Justin, and I didn't answer because I couldn't – I didn't _have_ an answer. I stroke his arm again, wondering if I got so worked up about the story because I worried about what _he_ would think of it. I've gotten pretty good at ignoring the press since my Hogwarts days, and even Hermione had been surprised by my reaction to the vile things the newspaper was writing.

I grin again, envisioning the headlines if it came out that I was sleeping with Draco Malfoy. Since I'm not entirely sure how _I _feel about it at the moment, I'm in no rush to find out. After glancing down to make sure he's still asleep, I slide out from underneath him, easing him down to the carpet. Satisfied he's still asleep, I stand, wincing at the pins and needles in my legs, and grab my clothes, donning them quickly. Minutes later after several wrong turns, I'm in the entryway of Malfoy Manor, tossing a handful of Floo Powder into the grate and heading home.

TBC


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 27:**

**Draco's POV, two days later, afternoon, Malfoy Manor Grounds**

"Do you actually read your owl post, Potter?" I frown when Potter, whose magical trail I've incorporated into the wards of Manor to give him free access, Apparates onto the driveway of Malfoy Manor with a loud crack.

"Did you owl me?" Potter looks genuinely surprised.

"Why else would I ask?" I roll my eyes at Potter, and spinning around I dash after a mop of white-blond hair, belonging to a little boy nearly one third of my height – my godson – and picking him up, I lift him into my arms and stop him from ruining my mother's sacred tulips. She'd have my head – and Pansy's – if Julian was to pull out the tulips on the little flower island she created in the middle of the driveway one weekend when she decided that the huge marble fountain looked too bare. Yes, go figure. That is my beloved mother for you.

She actually got down on her knees and planted the seeds with her bare hands, not bothering to use magic – hence the reason she's so protective about them. She doesn't mind Julian causing havoc in the Gardens – she doesn't look after them after all, our house-elves do – but that little piece of art is her pride and joy. "Jules, not those pretty flowers. Auntie Cissa will put us both in the naughty corner if you do that," I chide my godson and shake my head when Julian pouts at me – that boy spends too much time around me. He's picking up on my traits rather quickly and Pansy doesn't like it one bit. Her dislike of her son adopting my traits hasn't stopped her from bringing Julian around for the one or other odd afternoon or weekend when she has urgent business to attend to though, so I don't really care.

Shuffling Julian, who has wrapped his arms around my neck – his way of making it obvious that he doesn't want me to put him down – into a more comfortable position, I walk up to Potter, who looks like he's seen a ghost. "It's not my son, Potter, quit gawking," I chide Potter too, and he duly closes his mouth. "I owled you this morning to tell you that I need to postpone today's meeting because I'm stuck with child-minding duties. Pansy asked me to look after my godson for the day," I explain to Potter, who still doesn't look like he's going to start talking any time soon. Rolling my eyes at him, I untangle my godson's arms from around my neck and despite Julian's protests I set him down. "You're a big boy, Jules." I smile and ruffle my godson's hair affectionately when he proceeds to wrap his arms around my leg instead.

"I'm only three," Julian objects stubbornly and I laugh.

"That's a very good reason." I smile at my godson, who nods eagerly. "Not." I add and his face falls. "However if you're a good boy there might be some of Florean Fortescue's ice cream waiting for you later." I bribe my godson and I'm astounded to hear Potter chuckle next to me.

"Anything to keep the child happy, eh?" he grins, and looking at him I nod.

"Of course. So what about my owl? Did you decide to ignore it?" I ask.

"I didn't get your owl. We had a security breach at the Ministry today though so Shacklebolt put a stop to any incoming and outgoing owl post until the culprit, responsible for sending confidential files via owl post has been found."

"Well that would explain it." I nod. "I won't manage to look at any of your notes today though. Not with that little brat there glued to my leg, anyway." I incline my head towards Julian, who seems to have no intentions of letting go of me."

"There's an easy solution to this." Potter grins and before I know what's happening he's leaning in and resting his chin on my forehead he whispers something that makes me chuckle. I nod in agreement and Potter pulls away, albeit with slight hesitation. I try not to let that fact get to me though – not now anyway… Not with my godson around. But I do still have a bone to pick with Potter – he had no right to fuck off two days ago after he and I fucked. He left me sleeping on the carpet of my study.

He could've at least had the decency to wake me up and tell me to go to bed. My back is still sore from the carpet burns, and the morning after I had to resort to wearing an emerald turtle neck jumper for my monthly meeting with my publisher because of all the marks Potter left behind on my neck and shoulder. Oddly enough, I'm not even mad at him for marking me though – it feels strangely alright for him to have done so. I even surprised myself when I simply smiled at the memory of my intense encounter with Potter when I looked into the mirror the next morning and saw all the marks. My usual reaction to someone having the indecency to leave a mark on my skin would be anger. However with Potter's marks there was no such feeling in me. I'm feeling oddly familiar with the fact that he branded me and the fact that the marks are starting to fade almost upsets me.

Shaking my head slightly, I push the memories of Potter fucking me into the far corner of my mind. It really isn't such a good idea to be thinking about Potter hard cock shoved up my arse with my three-and-a-half-year-old godson around. That reminds me… Potter's suggestion! I must put it to good use.

Bending down, I untangle Julian's hands from my leg and holding them hostage with my left hand; I sneak my right hand around Julian's waist and tickle him. My godson shrieks with surprise and wriggling in my arms he tries to get away from my hand which is assaulting his waist, gently poking him between the ribs and tickling him. I've no intention of stopping though – not until Julian promises me he'll do anything and pleads for mercy anyway!

I do look up at Potter, who is looking rather amused, and winking at him I'm surprised to find him winking back. The simple gesture makes me shudder pleasantly and for a moment I wish that he and I were alone. I want a repeat of that intense encounter from two days ago. I want Potter to claim me again, I want him to make me his and bloody fuck I don't care in the slightest that I sound like a slut – Potter's slut – I just want a repeat of the sensations cursing through me when Potter fucked me as though nothing else in the whole wide world fucking mattered. Nobody ever made me feel this way, nobody ever made it so bluntly obvious that there was nothing more important but fucking me and I want to repeat of that. The memory of the feeling alone is enough to drive me crazy with lust and if it wasn't for my godson, I'd grab Potter and Apparate him into my bedchambers.

***

"Uncle D… Can I ask you something?" Julian asks me about a good hour later and out of the corner I can see Potter intently watching me for my reaction when my godson places his dirty fingers – I Conjured up a sandbox for him to play in and a couple of toys and he's been building a sandcastle and backing cakes for the last hour. I find it astonishing how easy it is to keep Julian happy sometimes. He's loves busying himself and I get a kick out of watching him amuse himself. His delight with the sandbox has given me the opportunity to sit down on one of the garden chairs, Conjure up some coffee for Potter and me and go over some of the hand-written notes Potter brought along to today's meeting.

I've only half-heartedly been soaking up Potter's suggestions though. Julian might be perfectly fine with playing by himself, but he's also one of those kids you constantly need to watch. He gets the craziest ideas at the best of times. He loves flying so he'll try anything to get to my broom or to fly off the garden table or garden fence or anything else which he can climb – which has already resulted in him landing in St Mungo's to get a scar on over his left eyebrow sewn up and of course Pansy threatening to hex my balls off if it happens again.

"You can ask me anything." I smile at my godson and pointedly ignore the dirt on my beige trousers. I'm not squeamish, so take that, Potter! A bit of sand from my godson's dirty fingers isn't going to make me run inside to get changed. Julian's already covered me in mud, grass stains, pumpkin juice, vomit and the contents of his nappies, so I'm fairly experienced in handling dirt.

"Is Harry your boyfriend?" Julian asks and glancing sideways I catch Potter smirking and biting his lips, firmly preventing himself from doubling over with laughter. And boy he better contain himself because if he doesn't I'm going to hex him up onto the Maple tree on the other side of the garden.

"No, Jules, Harry is a friend," I answer Julian's question, idly wondering why my three-and-a-half-year-old godson is asking me such questions. Mind you, he knows I'm gay, I just wasn't aware of the fact that he was so interested in my love life. I really must have a word with Pansy. There's no doubt he gets this from her. If she knew about me and Potter I'd never hear the end of it. Thankfully she doesn't know, though if Julian mentions Harry when she comes to pick him up tonight, I'll never hear the end of it so it's a no win situation really. And Pansy being Pansy means that she will manage to make me tell her things that I don't want anybody to know – she has a knack for that. "What makes you think that Harry is my boyfriend?" I ask my godson, my curiosity getting the better of me.

"You give him funny looks," Julian states and clutching at my shirt, he pulls himself onto my leg and puts his hands on the table. He gives Potter a bright smile and that's the end of Potter's ability to restrain himself and as he doubles over laughing, I make a mental note to add said slipup to my list of reasons why Harry Potter deserves to be tied to my bed and fucked senseless after I tease him for hours on end – without the pleasure of an orgasm of course.

"I give Harry funny looks?" I ask and push my coffee mug out of Julian's reach when his little fingers try to grasp for it. Drawing my wand, I instead Conjure up a plastic cup with some pumpkin juice and Julian greedily drinks up. When he's finished, he nods.

"You do, Uncle D. But I don't mind. Harry is nice. Can I call him Uncle Harry?"

"Well I'm glad you approve, you cheeky little monkey." I laugh. "And you'll have to ask Harry whether you can call him Uncle Harry."

"Of course he can," Potter throws in and I roll my eyes at him for fuelling Julian's notions about Potter being my lover – as if. He and I are as incompatible as fuck. Though I'm tempted to see the two of us trying to cope with each other for any length of time… it would be a most entertaining experiment to say the very least. And if said experiment includes mind-blowing fucks all over the place, then I'm in without batting an eyelid.

"There. Harry's being nice. You can call him Uncle Harry now, if you like," I chuckle and Julian grins.

"What do you call him?" he asks me.

"Potter," I answer, and Julian frowns.

"Why?"

"Because that's his last name," I explain.

"But I don't call you Uncle Malfoy." Julian looks quite confused and I chuckle – since Julian's arrival I've had the pleasure to find out that kids come up with some funny stuff at the best of times. What I really love about Julian is his bluntness – he doesn't think twice about what he says. He's as honest as he could possibly be – a pure soul – and I hope he's never going to lose that.

"Harry and I have some history, Jules." I smile and ruffle my godson's blond mop. "We go way back, sweetheart. It's a long story. I might tell you when you're a little bit older."

Julian's response is a firm pout and Potter chuckles.

"No buts, Jules, maybe in a few years." I remain firm and when Julian opens his mouth to protest I hastily beat him to it. "Now, don't you forget the trip to Florean Fortescue…?" I shamelessly bribe my godson and he immediately closes his mouth.

"Fine." He sulks and wrapping my arms around him, I pull him closer and kiss his forehead. "I love you, little one," I whisper and because Potter's only a table length away from me, I know he heard me. His gasp is a dead give-away. Apparently Potter's never ever heard me express any love around him… well newsflash, Potter, my heart's not made out of stone.

TBC


	28. Chapter 28

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 28:**

**Harry's POV, that evening**

"– It was so, so –"

"Creepy?" Ron offers, and Hermione and I both glare at him from across the table. He shrugs and returns to devouring the pizza that arrived only minutes ago. Most of it is already gone, though Hermione and I both have untouched slices on our plates.

"Unexpected," Hermione says diplomatically, but I can tell _she_ thinks Malfoy cuddling with a toddler is disturbing as well. Hell, for that matter, so do I.

"No, you're right," I say, and Ron nearly chokes on a mouthful of hot cheese. "It _was_ creepy. When I first walked up I thought the kid was his – I mean, he looked like a carbon copy of Malfoy. I've just never imagined him –"

"Breeding?" Ron says after he swallows, earning himself a swat from Hermione.

I sigh, picking a bit of pepperoni off my pizza. Hermione and I make a point of ordering Muggle treats like pizza other Muggle takeaway at least once a month, but tonight I'm just not hungry. I can't tell if I was disturbed by what I saw this afternoon because it's _wrong_ for Malfoy to have access to molding impressionable minds or because he looked so bloody _right_ with a little blonde kid in his arms.

"It was his godson, Ron," I say, dropping the uneaten bit of pizza back on my plate and grimacing at the grease it leaves on my fingers. "Not his _son."_

I narrow my eyes at Hermione when she clears her throat, wondering what insight she's about to share. Her expression is a dead giveaway that she's got something to say that I won't like, and I almost want to hex her mouth shut so she can't put voice to what I already suspect.

"Pansy's husband is the Viscount of Abernathy, isn't he?" she asks, and Ron and I both shrug. Lavender Brown has been sending out updates on our year from Hogwarts every few months – she says she got the idea from her Muggle cousin who went to Exeter, where they do something similar for "alumni" – but it's little more than gossip via owl post, so I never read it. Obviously Hermione does.

"He's got to be something like 85 years old," she says, wrinkling her nose in distaste. She rolls her eyes when her revelation fails to get a reaction out of either of us. "It's _obvious_, isn't it?"

"What? That the slimy Slytherin cow married someone for his money and his title?" Ron sneers, snagging the last piece of pizza from the box.

"No! Well, yes," Hermione says, her impatience clear. "But that the boy probably _is_ Malfoy's son. You said he looks just like him, didn't you, Harry? White blond hair? Pointy features, thin build?"

I nod, absently picking at my pizza again. I've no appetite at all, but it keeps my hands busy. I know exactly where Hermione is going with this, but I don't want to encourage her. I had all afternoon to think about it while I watched Malfoy and Julian interact. They share more than looks – they even have the same mannerisms. But maybe this Viscount of whatever had blond hair as a child. Maybe Julian picked up on his godfather's habits because he's there a lot.

"The Viscount married Pansy because he wanted heirs. He'd had four other wives, and none of them were able to give him one. Then he's married to Pansy for what – a year or less? – And suddenly wham! She's pregnant," Hermione says, looking expectantly at me and Ron.

"Men can father children up until they die," I say flatly, hoping she'll drop it.

"Not men who haven't been able to father children for the past fifty years!" she says, forcing me to meet her eye. I squirm uncomfortably. She's too observant for her own good, and I _know_ she can see how much I don't want to talk about this. It's probably why she's pushing it.

"Wait," Ron says slowly, a look of horror blossoming on his face. "You mean this Julian kid could be _Malfoy's_ child?"

Hermione shakes her head in disgust, ignoring him completely as she turns to talk directly to me.

"It's common, Harry. It happens all the time, especially in cases where a pure-blood line is likely to die out because of the heir's … proclivities. I'd bet you everything I have in Gringotts that as soon as the Viscount dies and her son inherits his land and title that she declares Malfoy his father. She'll probably even change his name. The Abernathys are a half-blood line. She wouldn't care if that name died out."

I grimace, pushing my plate across the table to Ron, who tucks in despite the fact that I've mangled the slice of pizza with my fidgeting. I don't want to think about Malfoy having a child and I _especially_ don't want to think about the reasons Malfoy is unlikely to have an heir under normal circumstances. That's too close to thinking about why _I_ am unlikely to have an heir and why I felt a curious sense of longing to see Malfoy with a kid – and the brief delusional moment I had where I thought about how much I'd like to have a kid _with_ Malfoy. Because seriously – it's _Malfoy_. Why would I even think about such a thing? Tying myself that that egotistical, selfish, snobbish, rude, handsome, witty, brilliant –

I snap out of my daydreaming, furious with myself. Honestly, what is _wrong_ with me lately? First I'm calling him Draco and falling asleep with him and next I'm planning china patterns and day care options? I growl, summoning a bottle of Firewhisky from the cupboard. I haven't been drinking as much lately, something that has obviously affected my thinking. Clearly the solution is to get drunk and never allow myself to be sober again.

TBC


	29. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 29:**

**Draco's POV, one week later, Harry's house**

"Sorry. You were saying?" Potter shakes his head and I glare at him.

"I'm not repeating myself for the _fourth_ time, Potter; I'm not a parrot, in case you didn't notice that," I snap at him, and drawing his notes closer to me, I snatch the red pen from his hand and cross his suggestion out. "That's overdoing with the information, so I'm not adding that into the chapter," I snarl and give Potter a pointed look. "What's wrong with you anyway? You're unbearable tonight!"

"Sorry," Potter apologizes again and I watch him reach for his Firewhisky and take a sip – this is the sixth glass he's had since I arrived at Grimmauld Place, but to my astonishment he appears to be quite sober for the amount of drink he's had.

"I swear, if you apologize once more, I'm going to strangle you," I snap, and to prevent myself from actually reaching for my wand, I clasp my hands together, holding on tight. I want to know what crawled up Potter's arse and died there. He's been ridiculously odd for a whole week now and it's severely unnerving. According to him it's not work stress, so I don't know. But he's acting too strange for my liking and I've had enough of it. I prefer Potter when he's laid back or fucking me, not when he's in this weird kind of mood.

"So"" Potter starts but bites his lip just in time when I shoot him a death glare. "Force of habit, apparently." He shrugs and grins lopsidedly. His cheeky smile tugs at the corners of my lips and before I quite know what I'm doing I'm smiling at Potter…Harry. It wouldn't hurt for me to try and call him by his first name every now and then. It's not going to kill me or paralyze me.

It is with slight difficulty that I pull myself together again and straighten up a little. I duly force myself to stop smiling at Potter and frown. Maybe Julian was right – I do give him funny looks. "So! We're not going to continue working on this chapter until you tell me why I need to repeat everything about five times before you actually hear me even though I'm sitting right next to you." Sitting back in my chair, I patiently wait for Potter to process what I've just told him and shake my head when he opens and closes his mouth like a fish several times before letting out a long sigh and emptying his Firewhisky straight after.

"Have you lost your tongue?" I frown and Potter sighs again. "Oh for the love of Merlin's powers! It can't be that fringing bad! What's the press writing now about you and what's-his-face?"

"It's not the press, _Draco,_" Potter sighs and his unexpected use of my first name surprises me. It makes a shudder run down my spine. So far Potter's only ever said my first name when we were having sex. To hear him say it just like this, without second thought, sounds alien. I'm torn between liking it and feeling uncomfortable about it. Potter's use of my last name fuels our passionate feud. Only Potter can make my blood boil by calling me Malfoy. He was away of spitting out my name that just turns me on. I know it shouldn't, but I just can't help it.

It's all those encounters with Potter that are playing havoc with my mind. I'm all over the place these days and I have no clue how I manage to hold myself together enough to work on the book. But I'm making such good progress that my publisher has agreed to finally setting a release date. It's still a couple of months away, but it will, without a doubt, be coming around soon and I can't wait. I've poured so much effort, so many late hours, so many sleepless nights and countless hours of interviews and travels into this book that I can't wait for the final edition to end up on the bookshelves.

"It's Julian." Potter rudely interrupts my train of thoughts and snapping my head up, I stare at Potter as though I've seen him for the first time today. What is it about Julian that makes Potter act this strange? I know Julian is a dote, but I didn't know meeting him ones would fuck with Potter's mind like that. "He isn't your godson, he's your _son_. Am I right?" Potter asks me outright and I'm pretty glad for the fact that I'm sitting down, otherwise I might've fainted. "Oh come on, it's not that difficult to figure out. The boy looks every inch like you and even acts like you," Potter chides me and I close my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath.

"That's precisely the reason why I send you an owl, asking you not to come. I don't need you poking around in my business."

"Your business? You've a _son_, Draco Malfoy, a _son_ who doesn't even know his real father." Potter looks outraged and sighing softly, I Accio the bottle of Firewhisky and Potter's glass. Filling the glass up, I push it into Potter's hand and pointedly tell him to drink up. He does without questioning me and I allow myself to take a swig straight out of the bottle, something I usually never do around other people but Merlin knows I need it. I guess I've some explaining to do. I should've expected this really, should've guessed that Potter would put two and two together and get four. But if I'm honest, I kind of just tried to ignore the fact that Potter Apparated in on a private moment I was sharing with my son.

I wasn't delighted when Pansy dropped him off with me in that morning, but no amount of pleading made her surrender and take Julian with her. She was determined that I keep him for the day so I had no choice really. She likes making sure that Julian spends a fair amount of time with me and it pains me to have to keep up the 'Uncle D' charade but if my beloved Jules knew that I'm his father and not that slimy git Pansy married, our plan would go sailing right out of the window. Julian wouldn't be able to understand the truth, wouldn't be able to keep it to himself. He's not even four.

I just hope he'll forgive me when I eventually get to tell him the truth. He does love me a lot more than he loves his 'father' – he's told me so on numerous occasions, so maybe he can find it in his heart to forgive me for lying to him for the first few years of his life. I'll make up to him as soon as that idiot of a Viscount, who proudly calls himself Julian's father, keels over and dies. Well, I'm hoping to be able to make it up to Julian, I'm hoping he will let me explain, will understand and will accept me as his father. I know it will be hard on him, but mine and Pansy's intentions were good.

"He will find out in a few years" I tell Potter and take another swig out of the bottle of Firewhisky. The fact that Potter knows really doesn't sit well with me. Now he knows something about me that only Pansy and mother knew about – he finally found out something about me that gives him the ultimate power over me. He could do whatever – he could sell the story to the _Daily Prophet _and I couldn't do crap about it. Well I could pledge my life, money and possessions to him, but I'd doubt he'd accept.

"Don't look at me like I'm about to grab a handful of Floo Powder to call the papers. I've no intention of telling anybody that you have a son. I can't believe you think that little off me." Potter glares at me, and I feel obligated to apologize. Usually I never do anything I feel obligated to do but there's just something about Potter that makes me really unreasonable at the best of times. I make irrational and rash decisions, I don't think, I just act, I let Potter boss me around and get the better of me, I listen to him, accept some of his point of views and most importantly I let him fuck me.

I can't help but chuckle when Potter gapes at my apology. "What? I don't think you're some shit who's just after my money, so I apologized. Don't make it such a big deal."

"Who are you and what did you do with the real Draco Malfoy?" Potter asks me with a frown and I roll my eyes.

"Seriously!" I shake my head. "I am a human being, you know."

"I know, you're a father too!"

"Potter, _please_. Stop making a big deal out of it," I sigh.

"You've a son and you tell me it's not a big deal?" Potter glares at me. See, that's exactly why I was perfectly content with no-one knowing about Julian's and my true relationship. So far Pansy and I have managed to successfully keep him out of the press, and the only time he's been the papers was the when the Viscount insisted on dragging my beloved son and Julian to some boring function. Other than that, I might be Julian's favorite uncle and his legally appointed guardian as well as godfather but I keep in the background as much as possible. Whenever I do take Julian out it's to places no-one will recognize either of us and so far Julian's never complained. He's happy whenever he gets to spend time with me and doesn't quite care about what we do as long as I don't budge from his side.

"Of course it's a big deal, but people have children every other day and it's just the fact that it's me, which makes you blow the whole thing out of proportion," I chide Potter.

"Well I thought I knew you… obviously I was very wrong. I know close to nothing about you. What other skeletons are you hiding away in that closet of yours?"

"None," I answer honestly and chuckle and Potter's metaphor. I am wondering why we're having this conversation. It really is unhealthy that I care about Potter's opinion of me and my life. I never did before and now I just can't get him out of mind. Lately I'm constantly wondering what he'd say or do and it bothers me. I know he well and truly got under my skin, but whenever I realize just how far he wormed his way in I'm actually scared. I never thought writing a book about the Second Voldemort War would lead to this – to me not being able to spend a day without thinking of Potter, to wanking to thoughts about him when I'm alone in my bed, to falling asleep with him on the floor of my study and to the fact that I let him fuck me on more than one occasion. I really don't know what to do about it, and the thought alone makes me take another swig of Firewhisky.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. My son was my biggest secret. Now he no longer is."

"Why?"

"Something being a secret usually implies people _not_ knowing about it, Potter." I roll my eyes and shake my head. "Since you now know, the fact that I have a son is no longer a secret."

"You don't trust me not to go talking, do you?" Potter sighs.

"I would like to, but I'm naturally cautious. This is my son we're talking about."

"Would you like me to take an Unbreakable Vow?" Potter asks me, and I'm stunned to silence for a good few minutes. Potter is full of surprises tonight…

"If I asked you, would you say yes?" I chance it. Potter brought up the Unbreakable Vow after all. Let's see how man enough he really is. Let's see if he's a man who stands by his word…

TBC


	30. Chapter 30

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 30:**

**Harry's POV, eight months later**

"Uncle Harry!"

I whirl around, scooping up the energetic ball of blond hair that is flying through the air toward me. For someone so relatively small, Julian can get up to an impressive height when he takes a running leap.

I smother him with kisses, delighting in the way he giggles. I have other honorary nieces and nephews – the elder Weasley siblings seem to be intent on giving Molly as many grandbabies as she can handle – but none of them react quite the same way to seeing me. Maybe it's because I get to see most of them more often, but I think it's because they're simply used to being manhandled and tickled. Julian's not. The Viscount is so frail that one running leap would probably do him in, and Draco has been so caught up in his book tour that he hardly manages to see Jules anymore. Now _I'm_ the uncle who takes him to Fortescue's for a scoop of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Ice Cream whenever Pansy can manage to get him away from the Viscount's country estate.

"Potter," Pansy drawls, giving me an indolent nod as she folds herself into a delicate wrought iron chair in Narcissa's rose garden.

"_Abernathy_," I reply dryly, carefully keeping my face serious until she bursts into peals of laughter.

"For Merlin's sake, can't you two be civilized?" Narcissa scolds as she takes Julian from my arms. He's much too big to be carried anymore as a strapping young man of four, but he graciously allows us to dote on him at our infrequent visits. Pansy and I look at each other again, bursting into fresh gales of laughter at Narcissa's mock-stern tone.

It's good to see Pansy happy – her husband's health has been failing of late, and she's taking is surprisingly hard for someone who married for money and not love. Then again, the mercenary bitch that Hermione described all those months ago simply doesn't exist. Pansy married Abernathy because he was a good match for her family and the only hope of bolstering the dwindling Parkinson fortune. Had she not, her younger sisters wouldn't even have been able to afford Hogwarts tuition when the school re-opened after the war. The night Draco had me swear the Unbreakable Vow I learned that the deception over Julian's true father wasn't the cold-blooded plot Hermione had originally theorized about, but rather the result of two best friends under the influence of a Lust Potion that had originally been meant for Pansy and her husband. Apparently the Viscount's loyal butler, a Squib who bore some distant relationship to the Abernathy family, didn't want to see the name die out and took matters into his own hands. Unfortunately for him, Pansy and Draco were the ones to share the bottle of wine he'd spiked with the Knockturn Alley potion.

"How have you been, Harry?" Pansy asks, her cheeks pink from laughing.

"Busy," I reply, summoning a crate of toys for Julian from the main house without even looking up. "We've got a gang of troublemakers who fancy themselves the next generation of Death Eaters. They've been little more than an annoyance so far, but Kingsley's worried they might pick up steam. He's got us all working overtime to catch the ringleader."

Pansy rolls her eyes, accepting a steaming cup of tea from Narcissa with a nod of thanks. Remarkably, she and I have become rather close in the last few months. Only Pansy and Hermione know that Draco and I have been seeing each other – mostly for casual sex, but the opportunity for more is there should either of us wish it, I think – on and off for nearly the last year. Hermione's attitude toward the arrangement we have is still rather cool, but Pansy has never had a problem with it. She wouldn't, I suppose. She knows all about arrangements of convenience.

"How's Abernathy?" I ask, flicking a glance toward Julian to ensure he's out of earshot. "Did the Healers manage to cure his Dragon Pox?"

Pansy frowns slightly, shaking her head. The prognosis for the Viscount has been steadily becoming grimmer as his illness progresses, and I can tell it's really taking its toll on her. Her usually rosy skin is sallow, and there are dark circles under her eyes.

"Dragon Pox at his age," Narcissa says with a tsk, laying a hand over Pansy's and giving her fingers a squeeze.

"We were only able to get away today because a new Healer came to consult this afternoon," Pansy said, quickly blinking away the glimmer of tears in her eyes. She is a Slytherin through and through, which means not letting even those closest to you see your weak moments. I've learned a lot from my time with Draco – nothing makes him retreat into his shell faster than a moment of vulnerability. "Draco recommended him in his last letter. He's Norwegian, and apparently the disease is much more common there."

She pauses, looking over at Julian, who is playing by himself on the lawn. I've snuck a few Muggle toys into his assortment here, and he's playing with one – a Mr. Potato Head – at the moment.

"There's not much hope of recovery," she says quietly, folding her hands in her lap and focusing her gaze on them.

I wish I could say something to make her feel better, but I had Hermione research the disease when I found out the reason for the Viscount's collapse last month. She told me Dragon Pox at his advanced age was almost certainly terminal, no matter what kind of treatment he received.

I refill her tea instead of saying anything, and the three of us sit in companionable silence until Julian decides he needs a pumpkin juice a few minutes later. As I pull one from the cooler the house-elves have left out in the garden for us, I can't help but worry what will happen after the Viscount dies. How soon will Draco claim his son? Will he want to marry Pansy to make him a legitimate heir? I watch the little boy I've come to love so much bounce around the garden and wonder if everything is about to change.

TBC


	31. Chapter 31

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 31:**

**Draco's POV, one month and a half later**

"What's with you?" I whisper and in a gesture very unlike me, I sneak my arms around Potter's bare waist and pressing my front against his back, I rest my chin on his shoulder. Potter has been staring out of the window of my hotel room for the last twenty minutes and his deathly silence is a little unnerving. That is not the reason I invited him to spend the weekend with me. My intention was for him to take my mind off the terrors of my book tour.

All the Q&A sessions as well as all the reading I'm doing have messed with my voice, and all those autographs I've signed have put a strain on my wrist. Promoting this book is so much tougher than researching and writing it ever was. I haven't been home in three months, I haven't seen my son in four weeks and Potter's most recent assignment – his promotion to Head of the Auror Department – is keeping him extremely busy – so busy we've only managed to meet a handful of times. This weekend is the first weekend since the start of my book tour that Potter's actually managed to leave his own life behind for more than just a few hours, and it has made me realize just how much I've missed his company.

I've grown so accustomed to Potter's – I should I really call him Harry, but I just can't bring myself to abandon my playful pokes at our long standing feud – witty remarks and all the stories he has to tell. He's keeping me up to date on everything that's happening in wizarding London and on the odd occasion that he's managed to keep me company for longer than a few heated kisses and a hurried shag or two, we've had the most interesting conversations and debates.

Even now that I've started getting to know Potter a whole lot better, he still manages to surprise me and I'm enjoying it immensely. There's nothing ordinary about being in Potter's company. He makes me laugh, he makes me furious, he makes me horny, and he intrigues me. We still fight like cats and dogs and I doubt that it'll ever change – not that I want it to… fighting with Potter is fun! We're both as stubborn as each other and there's usually not much hope that one of us will give in but we've discovered a few ways to change each other's minds. Besides, Potter is notorious for his foul play! He'll get his way with me and no matter how hard I'm trying to resist him it just doesn't work.

"I'm worried about Pansy," Potter admits quietly and I tighten my hold on him.

"She's holding up."

"Just about, though. She's not been herself and Jules is picking up on it."

"I told her to head out to the chateau in France for a while. Mother will be delighted to look after Jules," I sigh. "She's stubborn; I can't force her to leave England, if she doesn't want to."

"No, I suppose not." Potter shrugs and, slowly turning in my arms, he loosely rests his arms on my shoulders and plays with my hair. I've tried telling him off for that on numerous occasions but it's just like talking to a brick wall, which is the reason why I've given up on teaching him some manners. Potter will be Potter and he'll forever do things his way. There's no hope in hell he'll ever change for anyone. Not that I would want him to. I like him just the way he is. He's become the perfect yin to my yang, and yes I'm perfectly aware that this sounds cheesy but I don't give a damn. "What is your plan now?" Potter pulls me out of my thoughts and I frown at him.

"My plan?" I ask.

"Well… Abernathy is dead. There's nothing that's stopping you from marrying Pansy and announcing Jules to be your official heir," Potter mutters and even though his voice is even, his words are bitter and his eyes don't shine quite as much as I'd like them to.

"Me marry Pansy?" I chuckle. "Are you out of your mind, Harry Potter?"

"It would make sense."

"Potter… Potter… Potter…" I shake my head. "I wouldn't marry Pansy in a million years. Though if you must know, I proposed to her once, back in Hogwarts. The two of us snuck out in the middle of the night and we sat by the lake with a bottle of Firewhisky each. That was the night I told her I'm gay. She was the first to know. And about five minutes after I told her she smacked me. Her way of politely declining my proposal." I chuckle again and Potter bites his lip to keep himself from smiling but he doesn't quite succeed.

"I don't even want to know how much to drink the two of you had." He shakes his head.

"Well, let's just say we had enough." I wink at Potter and pull him a little closer. "I will make Jules my heir, in fact he already is, I signed the papers the night Abernathy was pronounced dead, but I won't ever marry Pansy. No, I suspect she's going to mourn for a while, come to terms with it all, before settling with a handsome toy boy."

"I can actually see that happening"," Potter smirks, and I chuckle.

"Pansy's always had a soft spot for handsome young men. Jules is the living proof for that."

"Draco Malfoy, you forget that I know the _real_ story." Potter grins and his eyes glitter with mirth.

"Yes, please, don't remind me. I'd rather not recall that moment of sexual confusion in my life." I shudder and Potter throws his head back and laughs heartily. I pinch both his sides and when he shrieks and squirms, I cheekily capture his lips in a kiss. He doesn't resist in the slightest and it only takes seconds before the passion takes over and we stumble towards my hotel bed, limbs entangled and lips and tongues moving in unison, unwilling to separate, even as we fall onto the soft mattress and roll about, playfully fighting for dominance.

Much to Potter's surprise it's me who breaks away first and, stilling my assault on Potter lush body, I cup his face with both my hands and simply look at him – I can't help it but those eyes hypnotize me. I can't get enough of that vibrant green stare and I've never seen a more expressive pair of eyes than Potter's. His eyes speak volumes and I could stare into them for hours on end – unfortunately he never lets me! He doesn't even let me stare at him when he's sleeping. It always wakes him up and the first thing he does is give out to me for gawking at him in his sleep. He never really means it, and it amuses me because he so very clearly doesn't even make the slightest bit of effort to sound serious. But then that's just him.

"What?" Potter frowns, looking mighty confused.

"Nothing," I whisper and shaking my head, I lean down and place a fluttering kiss on Potter's lips but pull away before he gets the chance to deepen the kiss.

"That's bullshit, Draco, and you and I both know it," Potter whispers, and I chuckle.

"You don't let anything slip, do you, Harry?" I grin. We both make a point to call each other by our first names on the one or other odd occasions. The first time we tried it, it sent us into a fit of giggles and we were rolling about the floor, laughing like school boys. These days we manage to more or less keep a straight face.

"I'm an Auror." Potter rolls his eyes at me.

"Uh-huh, cuff me, Auror Potter," I chuckle and tease and Potter gives me a pointed look.

"Don't make me, _Malfoy_. I might just do it."

"I'm not stopping you." I shrug, and I really couldn't care any less whether Potter ties me up or not. He's made his point several times – it is safe to trust him and I do. He's been nothing but a gentleman to me since we've jumped into this casual fuck relationship of ours.

"That's not the reason why you broke away from the kiss though." Potter gently stirs the subject back to what we were talking about a few minutes ago.

"Well… since I know you're not going to let it rest until I tell you, I will just ask you." I shrug. "I was wondering whether you'd like to go out on a date with me…?"

TBC


	32. Chapter 32

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 32:**

**Harry's POV, two weeks later**

I hadn't thought Draco was serious when he suggested we go out on a date, so when he shows up on my doorstep a fortnight later I'm more than a little shocked. To be honest I've quite forgotten we'd made plans for tonight. He's been away on his tour, and I've been absolutely blasted at work, clocking fourteen and fifteen hour days that don't even bear thinking about. Frankly, it's lucky I'm home at all, and I give silent thanks to Merlin or whoever watches out for us that it's my off night.

I recover quickly, hoping he hasn't noticed the surprise in my eyes when I found him at my door. It wouldn't do for him to realize I hadn't remembered we had plans, especially since he definitely called this a date when I saw him last. _That _much I remember.

"Don't you look handsome," he teases as he leans in to kiss me lightly. I inhale the spicy scent of his cologne and close my eyes, enjoying the intimacy of the act. It really does feel like a _date_.

I'm wearing a pair of worn denims and a light jumper that has seen better days, but he doesn't seem to mind my casual attire. I wrack my brain trying to remember if he told me what we'd be doing tonight, but I come up blank. He's dashing in Muggle trousers in charcoal grey and a jumper I assume is cashmere, which looks so soft it's tempting to reach out to touch it. He looks like he just stepped out of the pages of a magazine, while I look like _I_ just stepped out of a trash bin.

"No flowers?" I ask, feigning affront to cover my discomfort. He laughs – a wondrous sound I don't hear nearly often enough – and waves his wand, conjuring a fragrant bouquet of white lilies for me. Another flick of his wrist transfigures the beer bottle I've left on the table into a vase.

"I didn't figure you'd have one on hand," he says dryly, grabbing the vase to empty out the beer and replace it with water before dropping the flowers in.

I'm suddenly flustered, and I feel a blush heat my cheeks as he returns from the kitchen. He's familiar with my house, and I find I like that – even though he has hardly been here since his book tour started.

"So," I say, desperate to get things back on solid ground. "We're going to a Muggle restaurant?"

Draco shakes his head, pulling a tiny basket from his pocket.

"I had the house-elves pack us a meal. Fancy a walk and a picnic?"

I stare dumbly at him, absolutely shocked beyond words. Walks and picnics? This is not the Draco Malfoy I know.

"Are you _courting_ me?" I ask incredulously, satisfied he at least has the grace to blush.

"After a fashion," he says stiffly, and I wonder if I've offended him. It wasn't my intention, but he's acting strangely, just like he was that night I joined him in his hotel and he proposed the ludicrous notion of us dating in the first place.

"Then alright," I say, offering him my most disarming smile. Two can play at this game, though I feel at a disadvantage because I don't know the rules. "A walk and a picnic it is."

I'm surprised again when he offers to Apparate me to the park he's chosen, but I gamely hold out my arm and let him do it. I stumble slightly when we arrive at the small copse of trees that shield our sudden appearance in the Muggle park, and only his warm hand on my arm keeps me from losing my balance and falling.

"Don't most parks close at dusk?" I ask, realizing we're quite alone in the darkened park as we stroll down the path, still arm in arm.

Draco shrugs, and I eye him suspiciously, wondering what he has planned. My doubts melt away as he finds a suitable spot and spreads a blanket he's taken from his pocket and enlarged with a spell, and begins laying out a veritable feast of cheeses and breads from the basket his elves packed. We eat in companionable silence, watching the last of the setting sun and snuggling up together when the air takes on a chill.

I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Draco to reveal that this was all part of some elaborate ploy to get me out into the open for exhibitionist sex or something. So I'm surprised again when he clears away the rest of our picnic with a flick of his wand and helps me up, strolling back toward the trees to Apparate us home. It's all so above board and polite, and it's completely messing with my head.

I expect him to jump me the moment we're back at Grimmauld Place, but he doesn't. Instead, he pecks my cheek and gives me an affectionate squeeze before bidding me goodnight and leaving. Leaving! I sit on the sofa, watching the spot he Disapparated from, waiting for him to pop back in and laugh about what a good joke it was to leave me confused and aroused, wondering if he was really gone. But he really _is_ gone. It's been two weeks since I last saw him, and he leaves me after a platonic kiss on the cheek.

I frown, wondering if I should Floo the Manor and look for him. Or perhaps I should Firecall Hermione to see what she makes of it? I dismiss both options, settling for a large glass of Firewhisky and an early bedtime, figuring sleep might help me puzzle out what the hell just happened.

TBC


	33. Chapter 33

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 33:**

**Draco's POV, six days later**

"A Quidditch game? You're taking me out to a Quidditch game?" I ask incredulously as we – that is Potter and I – take our seats in the Minister's private box – Shacklebolt is not attending this game as he is away for an important meeting with several other Ministers for Magic which, much to his own disappointment, could not be delayed any further. To excuse his absence at this year's Quidditch World Cup Quarter-Final – England are playing against France – he suggested that Harry go in his stead and Potter of course promptly insisted on bringing me as his companion.

"You know quite well that this is not just any game," Harry chuckles and nudging me affectionately, he winks. "Go, England, Go!" He laughs and I shake my head. He's acting like a boy – dressed in a Quidditch scarf that clearly shows he's supporting England, as well as a t-shirt that has the English Quidditch team's mascot emblazed on it. I personally resisted the urge to dress up for the occasion, and much to Potter's surprise 'I've donned a pair of tight-fitting, yet extremely comfortable, blue jeans and a white button up shirt with the three top buttons undone. I have a jean jacket with me but it's too warm to wear it, so I abandoned it before we even got to the Quidditch Arena. It is currently resting on the back of my seat.

The attire is very unlike me, but Pansy insisted on me trying something different to impress Potter – and impressed he certainly was. He was hardly able to take his eyes off me last week when I took him out for a picnic and so it's no wonder he's even worse now. I know what he wants, but he won't be getting it just yet. I'm having too much fun challenging his ability to restrain himself.

"You know, just for that comment, I will whole-heartedly support the French." I give Potter a wicked smile and he frowns.

"Traitor!" he exclaims, and his serious face makes me laugh.

"You can take revenge after the game…" I grin. "Providing that your team wins… if not, it's my rules." I smile deviously and the look in my eyes says it all. I'm determined to win my little bet and much to my delight, Potter is, too. His green eyes are practically sparkling at the challenge I've set him. Not that he can do much to influence the outcome of the game, but at least this is going to spice up the next couple of hours, while we both sit and cheer for our respective teams. It'll be like we're back in school, and I can't wait to see the fire flare up again between the two of us. Potter is always up for the unexpected; I've had the great pleasure of experiencing throughout the last couple of months so naturally I can't wait for what he's up to if England wins. Granted, if France wins, he's going to be in for a big surprise…

***

"So, England won…" Potter states with a sly grin sometime long after we have retired in the winter garden of Malfoy Manor with two glasses and a bottle of well-aged Firewhisky, which I religiously reserve for special occasions, and tonight, though Harry does not know this – strikes me as a special occasion.

"Yes, England won…" I nod and taking a small sip from my drink – I spontaneously decided to enjoy tonight's drink with ice – I comfortably settle into my chair and cross my legs. The night is still young and the cloudless sky is filled with stars – somewhere far away thousands of wizards and witches are celebrating England's qualification into the Half-Final, Potter and I however decided to separate ourselves from the crowds and have our own little party in the privacy of my home.

Upon our arrival I opened the door to the gardens and the sounds of the night are providing a soothing background noise. A light chill is coming in through the open door but it is by no means unpleasant. The armchairs we're both sitting in have been Charmed with elven heating charms, and the ever-burning candles one of my house-elves placed around the room provide sufficient warmth. Besides, there's some kind of magic in the air, something I can't quite put my finger on, but it's enough to keep me pleasantly warm. Not even a gust of wind could make me shiver now.

"Is that all you have to say?" Potter raises his eyebrow at me and mirroring me, he too takes a sip from his drink, settles further back into his chair and crosses his legs. He's comfortable here at Malfoy Manor; that much I know. He and Julian take great pleasure in exploring every corner of the Manor – mother has told me so – and their favorite place to hang out in is the big ballroom. The ceiling is Charmed just like the one in the Great Hall in Hogwarts and the chandeliers are magnificent. Potter regularly cushions the ground and allows Julian to fly around the room on his miniature broomstick, something that my beloved son simply cannot seem to get enough of.

Apparently getting him off his broom, even if it's just for lunch or dinner, always ends in a temper tantrum. Unfortunately I haven't had the chance to watch the two of them play together in the big ballroom, but now that the promotion for my book has sufficiently calmed down, I intend to spend more time with Julian. Mother and I came to an agreement to help Pansy come to terms with the loss of her husband. I will be looking after Julian as much as possible, while mother intends to travel with Pansy and take her out as much as she can to keep her busy and make this whole thing a lot easier for her to bear. I've no doubt that she did actually love the Viscount – that's Pansy for you – he's always been good to her and looked after her well, so for her to come to terms with being alone once more, is hard and I respect that she needs time to grief.

"With the coach France has, I'm surprised they even made it into the Quarter Final. The man has no idea about Quidditch tactics." I eventually answer Harry's question after a slight delay.

Potter nods. "Even Hogwarts teams have played better than them…during practice."

"Even Slytherin?" I crook my head to the side and grin at Potter, who laughs. It's that warm, hearty laugh that makes me shiver with excitement and grin like a love-sick schoolboy. And even though I'm aware of my actions, I'm in no way inclined to hide the true me from Potter.

"Even Slytherin. It's not my fault you were too busy checking out my arse to pay attention to the Snitch, Draco," Potter teases me and I glare at him. "Well, you couldn't take your eyes off me…" he shrugs and I shake my head.

"You just wait, Potter, you just wait," I say nonchalantly, but the look in my eyes says it all…

TBC


	34. Chapter 34

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 34:**

**Harry's POV, two weeks later**

I can barely contain my laughter as I watch Draco sneer at a piece of lawn furniture before sitting on it. He was so sure of himself when we made that Quidditch bet – I know he expected me to claim my prize as some sort of sexual favor. I raise my bottle in a mock toast to him when he looks up, but he just glares at me and looks away.

"You should be over there," Hermione says, sneaking up behind me and startling me out of my amused daze.

I shrug, taking another sip of my Butterbeer.

"He told me he didn't want anything to do with me," I answer, my lips twitching into a grin. Those weren't the words he'd used, but the gist was the same. I had a feeling Hermione would box me round the ears if I used the exact phrases he had. Draco definitely has a way with words.

"Well, can you blame him? I know you two are publicly dating, but to bring him to a Weasley family dinner so early in the game? Aren't you afraid it will scare him off?"

I lower the bottle, letting it rest against my hip as I turn to look at her. She's busy arranging huge vats of potato salad on the long picnic table, which is covered with a cheery tablecloth to hide how worn it is. I have to give Molly credit – she isn't happy about me dating Draco, but she _is_ making an amazing effort to make him welcome.

"If he can't handle this then there's no point, is there?" I ask, all pretence of frivolity dropped. True I lured him here because he lost a bet, but it had to happen sooner or later. The Weasleys are my family, and Draco's going to have to accept that if we're to have any chance at all.

"You could have invited him to dinner with just Arthur and Molly," Hermione chides, levitating a platter full of cut watermelon to the table. Molly insisted on having an American-themed dinner in our honor, since we technically started seeing each other over there. It was a nice thought, but I'm not sure I can see Draco eating potato salad and hamburgers.

"Where's the fun in that?" I retort, and I see her lips curve into a smile before she turns away. She knows I'm right. Either Draco can handle a full-frontal Weasley assault or he can't. Better to know now than later. Though to be truthful, it would have been better to know months ago before I started really falling for him.

I hear a pained yelp and whirl around, my wand already out of its holster to defend Draco. But he's not the one curled on the ground – Ron is. And judging from the tears streaming down George's face, it's obvious he's the culprit, not Draco. He meets my gaze for a moment, his grey eyes full of amusement. Apparently George has enough Slytherin tendencies to put him at ease.

"Oh, honestly!" Hermione hisses, abandoning the table to go help Ron. George has offered him no assistance at all, and Draco doesn't seem inclined to, either. I roll my eyes at him, but he just smirks.

Surprisingly, we make it through an entire Weasley dinner with no caustic remarks either to or from Draco. He's the model of good behavior, sandwiched between Fleur and Angelina, making polite small talk with the two of them. Fleur's already firmly in his corner, and has been since he greeted her in French when we arrived. Ang was a bit harder sell, but it seems like he's managed to melt her as well.

"Oi, good thing Malfoy's gay. Looks like we might have competition otherwise," George says to Bill in a loud whisper. He winks at me, and I'm unable to hide my smile.

Only Ron has kept quiet throughout the meal, but that's largely due to the fact that the sweet George gave him the latest Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes product, something designed to look like a run of the mill Acid Pop that actually takes the top layer of skin off the eater's tongue.

"Malfoy _is_ gay, isn't he Harry?" George teases, and I kick him under the table. "You'd never know it to look at you two; you haven't so much as snogged all evening."

Molly's yelling at George to behave, but his words make me realize that I haven't done anything to show how I feel about Draco all evening. True, I was heeding his warning to stay away from him, but it would probably do everyone some good to see that we're truly together.

Draco raises an eyebrow in challenge as I stand up, striding around the table toward him. He stands to meet me, and our eyes lock for a moment before I cup his jaw in my hands and lean in for a kiss. I'd meant it to be soft and sweet, but he clearly has other ideas, probably revenge for bringing him here in the first place. It isn't until I hear George catcalling and Angelina saying something about covering the children's eyes that I realize we've rocketed past sweet and are teetering on the edge of pornographic. I pull back, shaking my head when I see Draco's smirk.

"Certifiably gay, then," George says, and the entire table bursts out into loud laughter. I'm smiling so hard my face hurts, and when I steal a glance at Draco, I'm happy to note that he looks rather happy as well.

TBC


	35. Chapter 35

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 35:**

**Draco's POV, three days later, Wizard WW9 radio studios**

"Why are you so fidgety?" Potter frowns at me and pursing my lips, I glare at him, causing him to take a precautionary step backwards. I know I'm not the best company right now - in fact I haven't been all morning - but then I didn't ask Harry to accompany me. It was _his_ idea to take the day off and join me at the Wizard WW9 radio studios for some moral support in preparation for my interview about my book. I'm more or less done with all the promotion - well the hardcore part of it is done anyway - but I every now and then my publishers insist that I attend certain events. Being a guest on the wizarding world's most famous radio station is, however, a first, and compared to how I feel about being interviewed live in front of hundreds of thousands of wizards and witches the reading, Q & A and signing session at Hogwarts the other day was nothing.

"You are making me nervous, cut it out." Potter rolls his eyes at me and my wand arm jerks towards my wand. I'm about three seconds away of hexing Harry's balls across the Atlantic Ocean if _he_ doesn't cut it out right about now. I'm nervous enough as it is - I have no idea what questions I'm about to be asked, all I know is that I'll be grilled by the radio host for at least an hour and that my interview is being broadcasted live across the world. Wizard WW9 is famous for those interviews, they do them twice every month and it's an honor to be invited to one of their Q & A sessions. Shacklebolt has been on a few times, members of the English Quidditch team, and back when he was still alive Dumbledore was also a guest at least once a year. They invited Severus Snape once to talk about Potions and potion classes at Hogwarts and he put up a crazy fight about having to go. Needless to say, Dumbledore made him and he was furious about it for ages. I remember it quite well because instead of being nice to me when he visited Dad at the Manor, Snape spend the entire day sneering at me.

"You make _me_ nervous, Potter," I snarl and glare at Potter until he quietly steps out of my way, allowing me to continue to pace the room again.

"Merlin's beard, Draco. Relax," Harry chides me, and the evident affection in his voice makes me shiver. Even more so when he places his hand on my shoulder and gently spins me around, bringing me face to face with him. And it doesn't stop there. No. He pulls me closer and I shamelessly let him and promptly blame it on those vibrant green eyes that I cannot get enough of. "Relax; it's going to be fine. You'll do great. I've faith in you," he whispers and, pulling me even closer, he slips his hand into mine and circles his thumb softly over the back of my hand. Next his lips are on mine and I melt against Potter's firm body as his other hand sneaks around my waist and pulls me as close as he possibly again without crushing my clothes – he seems to sense I'd have a fit if he did, so he doesn't even try.

My eyes flutter closed and a content sigh escapes my lips. Harry seems to have no intention of taking our kiss any further. He seems to be perfectly satisfied with the gentleness of our lips moving in unison and our tongues playfully battling away. There's no pressure to deepen the kiss, to spice things up and I'm enjoying it – sometimes all you want is a lazy kiss... without thinking, I sneak my free arm around Harry's neck, loosely draping it around his shoulders. I don't feel the need to actually hold on to him. He isn't going anywhere at this moment in time, that much I'm sure of.

"You'll do fine," Harry reassuringly whispers against my lips as he slowly withdraws from the kiss, much to my disappointment. I'd happily continue snogging Potter for the rest of my life… there's just something about his kisses. That man honestly needs a license to kiss the way he does.

"It's live," I sigh.

"I know. But you know what you're talking about. You wrote the darn book. Wizard WW9 is not Rita Skeeter."

"Still. What if they ask me something I don't want to answer?"

"Draco Malfoy," Potter chides me and I can't help but smirk. Night now he sounds just like my mother – not that this is in any way a good thing. "If you are asked a question you do not wish to respond to, you will politely decline to answer. It will be perfectly understandable."

"Ugh. Stop talking like my mother, you are making me nauseous." I shudder and Potter laughs. It's that warm and hearty laugh, the one that instantly wraps itself around me like a cocoon, making me feel good, making me smile despite my best efforts not to. Damn Potter and his sneaky Slytherin traits – Merlin knows where he got those from.

"Stop acting like a child." Harry shrugs and flashes me a wide grin. "That's Julian's job."

"I'm not acting like a child." I frown. "And don't bring my son into this."

"Not generally, no. Just sometimes. Usually when Julian's around."

"Watch it, Potter. You are walking on very thin ice." I glare.

"I'm a wizard, Draco. A swish of my wand will strengthen the ice should it crack. And in case it doesn't, I can always just Disapparate or Summon my broomstick…"

"Oh for the love of everything that's holy!" I roll my eyes and pushing Potter away, I give him an icy glare. "You really are pushing your luck with me right now."

"I was actually just trying to distract you." Potter shrugs. "But if you'd rather continue to walk a hole into the ground, fine, go ahead. I won't stop you."

***

Closing the bedroom door behind me, I rub my eyes and walk over to my bed, where Potter got comfortable with a book he found in my personal library earlier on, when we were sitting in my study, having a nightcap. "I'm exhausted," I sigh and kicking off my slippers, I slump onto the bed and without really contemplating my actions; I rest my head in Harry's lap and look up at him. Thankfully he has the common courtesy to put the book down on the nightstand now that he's no longer alone, though the look in his eyes doesn't please me in the slightest.

"I told you not to let Jules have sweets after dinner," he chides me but before I can come up with a snappy retort, he is running his fingers through my hair, gently massaging my scalp, and instead of a nasty response I only manage a content sigh.

"Well I didn't know he'd wake up in the middle of the night and demand to be entertained for two solid hours." I frown and lazily flicking my wand, I Summon the blanket from the chair next to the bay window and cover myself with it.

"He's four. What do you expect?" Potter rolls his eyes at me and I purse my lips in response.

"I'm going to tell Pansy to put him on a low-sugar diet, that boy is too hyper for his own good."

"It's not the sugar that made him hyper, Draco," Potter sighs softly and reaching out he entwines our hands and squeezes softly. I return the gesture and expectantly look up at him, waiting for what brilliant explanation he is going to come up with now. Trust Potter to have an answer for absolutely everything at all times… "It's you, Draco. Julian is hyper whenever you're around."

"He's the same when he's around you, _Uncle_ Harry."

"He's hyper alright, but it's not the same. Have you ever seen the looks he gives you when you're around? That child loves you more than anything in this world. Sure Pansy is his mother and he loves her, but he adores you so much it's practically frightening. You and Pansy ought to sit him down and tell him the truth, you know."

"He's _four_, Potter. Four! I'm not going to tell him now. I'll tell him in a couple years."

"Julian would understand now. He's quick and witty."

"I repeat he's also _only four_, Potter. Now cut it out. This is _my_ son we're talking about and I will decide when the time is right to speak to him about who his real father is." I glare at Potter and he opens his mouth to retort something but obediently keeps his thoughts to himself when I give him a pointed look.

"Sorry," he apologizes after a minute or two of comfortable silence, and his eyes underline the meaning of his apology.

"It's fine. You care. I understand." I shrug and instantly find myself wondering why I just said that. So Potter and I have been on a few serious dates – of which only two are worth mentioning: our picnic and the Quidditch match and I'm still planning to get my own back for Potter's forced invitation to the Weasley dinner, lost bet or not – but I don't actually have any solid proof that Harry well and truly cares. Well maybe I do, but I'm hesitant to admit it to myself. Allowing myself to acknowledge that Potter cares about me means opening up and opening up means being vulnerable and being vulnerable is the one feeling in the whole wide world that I fear most.

Being vulnerable always leads to heartache – eventually. It leads to pain, to trouble, to grief – emotions that I do not want in my life. Letting somebody else into your life is always hazardous and I don't have the nerve to end up hurt. I don't _want_ to end up hurt. Though, that said, I'm probably already in too deep. I know I care. I know I'm attracted to Potter. I know I want to spend time with him, be alone with him, and share things with him. I want him to be around Julian and I want him to continue being on good terms with Pansy and my mother. I want him in my life.

But then these are things I care about, things I know I feel. I don't know anything about what Harry wants out of this thing we have going on – whatever it may be. Sure we are dating but is it some sort of relationship we're having? Maybe it's just convenience for Harry? He knows I would never dish the dirt on him and sell things I know about him to the press. Sure, the _Daily Prophet_ wrote a massive article about our joined appearance at the Quidditch match some two weeks ago, but we made sure not to be affectionate in public, so they've got nothing on us. Surprisingly their suspicions haven't even gone into the direction of us potentially being a couple – something that is both amusing and relieving.

It means that we can spend time together in public as long as we keep our hands to ourselves – something that I like. I generally prefer to introduce my partners to the world in my own time, and I'm pleased that so far Potter and I haven't had to deal with nasty surprises. Though, knowing Rita Skeeter, she will sooner or later find something suspicious about the fact that Harry and I hang out, and this is where the fun is going to begin. Seriously, that woman ought to be locked up for good. And whoever thought she had any talent as a journalist ought to be locked up too – St. Mungo's has a very special ward for people like Rita Skeeter and friends.

"You've gone awfully quiet, you know," Harry chides me gently, but there's no malice in his voice, only slight concern in his eyes.

"Just thinking about the interview with Wizard WW9…" I lie instantly and with a smile I forcefully lock all my musings about Potter's and my relationship / arrangement into a drawer somewhere in the depths of my mind.

"I think you sold yourself and the book excellently. I was hooked. Especially liked the bit of news on the fact that you're planning to keep writing…" Potter grins and his eyes twinkle with amusement. I bet he's been dying to tell me that all day… when I came out of the studio, after my interview, I told Potter in no uncertain terms to keep his thoughts to himself and that I didn't want to hear anything from him – good or bad. He accepted my request and much to my surprise he didn't even once try to stir the subject into the direction of my chat with Wizard WW9 – something I really ought to credit him for.

"Thanks." I smile. "I feel inclined to agree, think I kind of fussed a bit too much beforehand but I honestly didn't know what to expect."

"Oh for the love of Merlin, Draco Malfoy openly admits he might have overreacted a little bit! And he's admitting it to the great Harry Potter of all people too. This is a moment to be treasured." Potter laughs and I slap his bare forearm and roll my eyes at him.

"Great Harry Potter? Has all that fame finally gone into your head then?"

"It's what everyone calls me; I see no reason why I shouldn't adapt to what the world thinks of me."

"I'm not everyone, thank you very much. I'd rather eat a whole bowl of flobberworms before I give into your notions of being great and Merlin knows what else."

"But I am great." Potter pouts at me, and I roll my eyes yet again.

"Keep imagining."

"I'd rather have sex with you actually." Potter grins mischievously, and I raise my eyebrow at him.

"That was rather random."

"I only just made up my mind about it." Potter shrugs, and a second and a mumbled spell later I find myself lying naked under the blanket I Summoned earlier. Another mumbled spell later and the door to my bedroom his locked and most of the candles in the room are out. A third spell – a Silencing Spell– follows suit. I shudder at the untamed magic swirling through the room and my skin tingles pleasantly when Potter winks at me and spells his own clothes beside the bed. He's such a show off… but I'll let it go for tonight…

"And who says I want to have sex with you?" I frown and pointedly hold on to my blanket when Potter tries to tug it away from me.

"I figured I'd convince you one way or another."

"Very sure of yourself tonight, are you Potter?"

"Absolutely, Malfoy." Harry grins, and we both chuckle. I am, however, distracted when Harry suddenly mutters a spell I've never heard before… seconds later his hand glows unfamiliarly and sparkles radiate off his palm and fingertips.

"What's that spell?" I whisper and I shudder when a sudden, strong wave of uncontrolled, wandless magic wipes around the room, echoing off the walls with a faint ring.

"It's a spell that enables a wizard to make his wandless magic visible," Potter mutters with a cheeky glint in his eyes, and my back involuntarily arches off the bed when Harry's glowing hand sneaks under the blanket and ghosts over my naked stomach, sending thrill after thrill of pleasure through my body. "It's not a particularly useful spell, it doesn't work when cast on a fellow wandless wizard, but it does provide endless hours of pleasure when used to tease someone sensitive to wild magic. Someone like you…" Potter explains and I gasp in surprise when his hand touches my skin. The sensations are strange; they're unlike anything I've ever felt before. I can feel the wandless magic spread across my body, cocooning me in a fine film and I instantly feel like I'm about to explode…

TBC


	36. Chapter 36

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 36:**

**Harry's POV, same night**

I watch Draco writhe underneath my touch, absolutely fascinated by the way he's reacting to the _Aperio Vis Vires_ spell. I grin, wondering how he'd react if he knew Charlie had been the one to tell me about it. It was a popular one among the Dragon Keepers, since the long Romanian nights gave them plenty of time to experiment.

I know exactly how it feels to have the raw energy course over my skin, since I tried the spell on myself last week. My cock twitches at the memory of the wild magic teasing over my skin, and I let my hand hover over Draco's skin, knowing exactly how much it must torment him.

"Fuck, Harry," he gasps, jumping as though I've touched him. I smile, slowly moving my hand down until it rests just above his dripping cock. He cries out wordlessly this time, bucking up to try to touch his erection to my palm.

I cluck my tongue, pulling my hand back. I know the moment I actually touch him again he'll come, and I'm not ready for that. I have plans for this evening, and I don't intend to let my aching cock make me forget them.

"So, Draco," I purr, moving my hand away. He looks up immediately at the loss, and I can tell how close to the edge he is – his usually grey eyes are nearly black with arousal. "What would you call this?"

He glares at me, inching closer to regain contact with my body, sliding his thigh along the bed until it's flush with mine. His skin is warm and soft, and for a moment I forget myself, moaning when his hand brushes over my erection.

"No, seriously," I say, backing away again. Any further and I'll be falling over the edge of the mattress. "What do you call what we are? Are we dating? Are we just having fun? I need to know."

He growls and lunges at me, leaving me no choice but to send a wandless spell at him. Seconds later he's bound to the headboard, his teeth gnashing as he pulls against the restraints. His erection hasn't flagged in the least, which reassures me that it's frustration, not anger, which has him cursing a blue streak as he struggles.

The spell I've used has dwindled, so I renew it, hearing him gasp when my hands are once again glowing. I tease him, running a finger down his ankle, and he gasps, his body going rigid with pleasure.

"What are we?"

He groans, letting his head fall back against the headboard. I'd be enjoying his frustration if I wasn't so damn frustrated myself, but I know I'd never get a straight answer out of him if I asked him in a normal situation. That's simply not how Draco Malfoy works.

"Untie me, you arsehole!" he yells, kicking out at me with his unfettered feet. I sit back, easily dodging his foot.

"Answer me and I will," I say calmly. I realize that I probably won't hear what I want to hear tonight, but I need to know nonetheless. I've been restless ever since the party at the Burrow, afraid that we aren't on the same page about our future.

"Stop playing at being Slytherin, Potter," he sneers, kicking out once more for good measure. I touch my hand to his knee, sliding it up toward his groin slowly. He tenses again, unable to stop the moan that slips past his lips as I skirt his erection and continue up his torso until my fingers reach his mouth. It's dangerous, I know – he's just as likely to bite me as kiss me at this point – but I trace his lips with my fingers, enjoying the way he shudders underneath me as the feel of the wild magic tingles against his skin.

"I don't know," he says quietly, his eyes wide open as he stares into mine. I can see the truth of his statement in the swirling grey depths, and even though it's more of an answer than I'd had a right to expect, I can't help but feel hurt.

I wave my hand, letting the bonds fall away. Though my heart is aching, I don't let it show as I murmur a Lubrication Spell, preparing myself for him. I know he won't last long after being kept on the brink for so long, but it doesn't matter. For right now, I want him any way I can get him. For right now, it'll be enough.

TBC


	37. Chapter 37

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 37:**

**Draco's POV, one week later**

"Snap out of it, Potter," I snarl at Harry, who has been staring at my laptop screen for nearly half an hour. I dropped by the Ministry to show him the first, very rough draft of my latest manuscript, well the first chapter of it anyway – I've started to work on a textbook for Hogwarts students just a few days ago – but instead of reading what's right in front of him, Harry is simply staring into space, clearly gone from this world. I don't know exactly what's going on, but I'm determined to find out. In the last seven days I've managed to see Harry a whopping two times – both times on his lunch break – and when I suggested that we head out to a Muggle pub in London on Friday night for a few drinks, he politely declined my offer, telling me he had a few files to catch up on. It was a ridiculous excuse and the moment he looked at me after making said excuse, he knew I wouldn't buy it. I allowed him to get away with it that one time but I'm determined to find out exactly what has crawled into Potter's pants.

I highly suspect that it's our unconventional encounter last week that is the cause for Harry's sudden need to distance himself from me, from what we have – or what we don't have – but I'm still hesitant to fully acknowledge that fact. It's so much easier to pretend to be oblivious to it all. There's less emotion involved in trying to be ignorant about what's right in front of you, it's less likely to cause me – and Potter – any pain. Though, judging by Harry's strange attitude these last few days I'm probably royally wrong. But what else was I supposed to say? I honestly don't know what Potter and I are. All I know is that I enjoy having him around – something I never ever thought I'd admit to myself. But it's true. There's some strange bond connecting the two of us and what started out as a silly, drunken proposal has turned into so much more, something really frightening. Something more powerful than both of us can or what to imagine… we're in deep, that much I'm sure of. But it doesn't make it any easier for me to try and handle the situation.

Last week I told Harry the honest truth and if he can't take it, then what's the point in elaborating? After my truthful answer – which I might add he forced out of me using unorthodox methods – he didn't feel the need to share his own thoughts about our arrangement. How am I supposed to tell him what I want when I don't even have the faintest idea about what he wants? It's fucked up, that's what it is. But despite all I cannot take Potter attitude and I've every intention of snapping him out of it. I don't really know what to do, but I'll figure something out. Hopefully…

"Huh?" Sitting back, Potter stares at me with a rather blank look on his face – even more proof of the fact that he didn't read a word of what I put right in front of him.

"I said snap out of it," I repeat calmly and rounding Potter's desk, I sit down on top of it and drawing my wand, I casually flick it and fire a Locking Charm at the door to his office. "What were you expecting last week when you asked me what we were?" I catch Harry off guard with my sudden topic change, and slipping my wand back into its holster, I give Harry a pointed look, one that should make him realize that I'm not planning to move until he's given me a satisfactory answer.

"Nothing." Potter shrugs and I raise one eyebrow at him, making him squirm uncomfortably underneath my gaze.

"Do you really expect me to buy that?" I sneer and cross my arms over my chest.

"That's entirely up to you," Harry responds, and the sulky undertone in his voice infuriates me. I've never experienced this side of him, this childish, unrelenting, silly side of him, and I'm glad that I haven't because it drives me up the wall. It's not like him to be this ridiculous.

"Well I'm not buying it, so you better come up with another explanation, one that actually makes sense," I push, and Potter glares at me. Anger and frustration are swirling around in his emerald orbs, mixed with confusion and a few other emotions that I can't quite place but know that they're there.

"What would you like me to say?" Harry asks me and leaning back in his chair, he crosses his arms over his chest – perfectly copying my own pose.

"Anything at all." I shrug, and at this stage I actually mean it. I'm scared shitless but this cannot go on. We both need to know what's going on before we lose our minds and take it out on each other. It's not going to be particularly easy – we're both as stubborn as each other – but it has to be done.

"Anything?" Harry confirms and I nod. "Like, I want more?" he pushes, and I shrug.

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes." Potter nods earnestly, and sucking in a sharp breath, I purse my lips.

"How much more do you want?" I ask. I simply need to know what he's expecting before I can tell him what I can give him.

"Some form of commitment, something that tells me I'm more than a convenient fuck to you." Harry's voice is a mere whisper and it makes me shudder. Even though his voice is quiet and he's calm, I know he means every word he says.

"You used to be," I sigh. "A convenient fuck, I mean. But that changed a good while ago. Now you're someone I like to hang out with."

"You sound like a teenager," Potter chuckles, and his amusement makes me smile, despite the seriousness of our conversation.

"I can live with that." I shrug. "But only because you and I both know that I will punish you for making that statement."

"I know. I can live with that too." Potter shrugs, and I shake my head.

"You're strange," I mumble, and Potter laughs.

"So I've been told. Apparently you're attracted to strange things."

"Apparently so. However I'm not entirely sure whether that's such a good thing."

"Well there's only one way to find out…"

"And which way is that?"

"Let's go steady?" Potter asks which such a sincere look on his face that I can't help myself but I laugh and shake my head.

"Are you asking me to be your boyfriend, Potter?" I chuckle, and Potter smirks, shrugs and give me a pointed look.

"I might be asking you just that…"

"We could certainly dare to wade into those dangerous waters…" I smile, and Potter giggles. Crooking his finger at me, he motions for me to come closer. When I don't oblige, Harry simply grabs me and pulls me onto his lap. I just about manage to suppress a shriek and glaring at Potter I poke his side, causing him to squirm. "Do that again and I'll tie you to this chair and leave you here overnight," I hiss and laughing Potter wraps his arms around my neck and draws me in for a kiss.

TBC


	38. Chapter 38

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 38:**

**Harry's POV, two months later**

I toss the _Daily Prophet_ into the flames, watching with satisfaction as it curls around itself and blackens. Not the most mature response to the latest from the lovely Ms. Rita Skeeter, I know, but undeniably gratifying.

Stupid cow. I take a deep breath, willing myself to calm down. Julian's due over any minute, and it wouldn't do for him to see me so angry, not with everything else that's going on in his life right now. The headline about Draco and Pansy being discovered in their secret love nest has my ire up, but I know it's false. It's just another in the long line of attempts to discredit her claim to the Abernathy fortune, likely thought up by the beetle-brained reporter and the distant cousins of the Viscount who are saying the title – and the land and money – should be going to them instead of Pansy and Julian.

The flames roar to life and I hear Julian tumble out, tripping over the rug that Hermione brought over yesterday – she's finally managed to redecorate the house from top to bottom and even though I generally prefer my house I must agree that she did an extraordinary job. Julian starts to wail and I rush over just in time to see Draco press a kiss to a skinned knee before spelling the scrape clean and conjuring a bandage for it. My heart lurches at the sight of him caring for his son, but I keep my face neutral. Julian doesn't know, and Julian _won't_ know until he's much older.

"You saw, I assume?" Draco asks in a low voice as Julian, fully recovered, and skips off to find the jar of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans I hide between each visit.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I know there's nothing between Draco and Pansy, but it still stings that he'll be seen out in public with her but not with me. When we agreed to start dating two months ago I'd thought it would bring an end to the subterfuge, but it didn't.

"Don't start," he warns, obviously reading my thoughts on my face. I set my jaw, looking away. He sidles up to me, wrapping his arms around my stiff torso and pulling me close. He leans over and whispers in my ear, his breath tickling against my earlobe. "Don't."

I want to pull away, but I know I'll gain nothing by acting like a petulant child. He's made all the concessions he's comfortable with by letting our friends and families know we're dating – he won't go that extra step and acknowledge it in public. There's always an excuse. At first it was because it was all too new and he wanted to give us a chance to work. Then it was because his book was being re-released and he didn't want it to look like our relationship was a publicity stunt. Now, of course, he wants to keep a low profile because of the challenge against Pansy's right to inherit. We both know Julian wouldn't pass a blood test – he doesn't have a drop of Abernathy blood. Of course, being photographed shopping for a town home in London with her was hardly the best way to remove suspicion that the two of them are together.

I've just relaxed into his arms, just happy to be with him. He's been away a lot lately, researching the textbook he's working on, and any time he's here he's been with Pansy and Julian. They need him, of course, and I won't begrudge them his time – I just wish he could carve some out for me as well. I've given up hope that we'll have a normal relationship any time soon, but I don't know how much longer I can get by on owls, Firecalls and the occasional midnight assignation. In fact, today's the first time I've seen him in the daylight in more than a month. I snuggle into his warmth, breathing in his spicy scent. Julian's presence in the other room precludes me from doing what I _really_ want to do, which is strip him naked and shag him six ways to Sunday, so for now I'll settle for getting as close to him as I can while we're both still clothed.

I can feel how tense he is, and I instantly feel bad for wallowing in self-pity about how little time we're spending together. His problems are much worse than mine, and I never hear him complain. He's trying to figure out how to be a father to a boy he can't publicly claim, shield his best friend from the glare of the press and her hateful in-laws and keep up with his career. It makes my solitary dinners and empty bed seem like much smaller troubles in comparison.

Draco pulls me over to the window, glancing over to make sure Julian hasn't rejoined us. I've hidden the jar under a cushion in one of the upstairs guest rooms, though, and I know it will take him forever to find it. He pushes aside the curtains, looking out over the empty street. Its late afternoon, and most of the other inhabitants of Grimmauld Place are all home making dinner, blissfully unaware that we even exist.

"Harry," he says, the muscle in his jaw twitching. "Pansy's pregnant, and tomorrow Skeeter's running an expose about how Julian's mine and saying this one is, too."

TBC


	39. Chapter 39

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 39:**

**Draco's POV, same afternoon**

"I'm going to kill her," Harry snarls for the umpteenth time and tensing, I glance over to the fireplace. Julian's sprawled out in front of it – I have Charmed the flames so Julian, who's too curious for his own good, can't reach into the fire – and he's engrossed in a Muggle coloring book that Harry gave him when he rejoined us earlier with the jar of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans in his arms and a smile stretching from one ear to the other. He looked so pleased with himself when he walked back into the room that it took me every ounce of self-restraint I possess not to fall to my knees and confess to him right there and then that I'm his father and that I love him more than anything in this world.

"Harry, please," I plead with Harry, but there's no real point to it. He's seething and I don't blame him. After that ridiculous article today, he expected to spend a relaxing day with me and Julian and I've thoroughly ruined it with the news I've given him.

"I'm going to kill her," Harry repeats, and vigorously pushing his chair back, he stands up and starts pacing the room. Julian's still blissfully unaware to the tension in the room, which I'm grateful for, but I'm not comfortable with Harry's current rotten mood. I know he has every right to be furious right now but it isn't doing him – or me – any good and its most definitely not helping the crappy situation Pansy and I are stuck in.

Taking a deep breath, I set my coffee down and slowly getting up, I walk over to Harry and shielding his body with mine; I reach for his hand and slip my own into it. He tenses first but relaxes when I run my thumb over the back of his hand. "Harry, please."

"Did you fuck her?" he growls at me, and the fury in his eyes makes me jump.

"No, Harry, I didn't," I sigh. "I told you before, I didn't sleep with Pansy."

"Who knocked her up then?"

"I haven't got the faintest idea. She refuses to tell me. Mother knows but she's not telling me either," I sigh again and, taking a step closer to Harry, I slip my hand around his waist and squeeze it softly in a futile attempt to keep Harry's attention focused on me. If he has another outbursts like this one, Julian is going to start asking questions. He might currently be engrossed in his coloring book, but he's most definitely not deaf. He's quite observant, much too observant for his age if you ask me.

"How much longer before the Abernathy will is finalized?" Harry asks me and I can see that it's causing him a great deal of self-restraint to keep his voice down.

"Two weeks without hiccups. But if Skeeter is going to print that article it's going to take a hell of a lot longer. So far they haven't demanded a bloodline revelation but if they do she won't stand a chance to win her right to inherit Abernathy's land and money," I sigh and, letting my shoulders drop, I close my eyes and try my best to keep it together. These last two months have well and truly taken its toll on me and I don't know how much longer I can keep the façade up. I'm inches away from crumbling. All I wanted, since Harry and I decided to 'go steady' – his eloquent words still make me chuckle now despite all the mess I'm in – was a bit of peace. Naturally what you want most is the one thing you're least likely to get.

This whole situation is just so frustrating, and for once I don't know what to do. I'm so caught up in everything that's going on that I haven't had a chance to sit back and relax. I'm virtually making no progress on the textbook I'm working on, despite the fact that I've got it all planned out in my mind. And Harry's rotten mood and Pansy's public dispute with Abernathy's distant relations isn't helping either. My mind is everywhere except focused on the task at hand.

"Okay. Stay here. I'll be back in half an hour. One hour at the most," Harry says quietly and, disentangling himself from my loose embrace, he takes a step back.

Crooking my head to the side, I frown and eye Harry warily. "You're not going to do anything stupid, are you?" I ask him, needing to be sure that the front page article of tomorrow's _Daily Prophet _isn't going to report that Harry Potter, Head of the British Auror Department, has been escorted off to Azkaban, pending a conviction for cold-blooded murder.

Harry smiles and shakes his head. "No. I'm just going to call in a favor. A big one," he explains, and before I can ask any other questions he darts out of the room and seconds later a loud crack confirms my suspicion – Harry Apparated away, leaving me alone in his house with my son.

***

"You said one hour at the most, Potter. Julian fell asleep hours ago," I hiss at Harry when he walks through the front door, drenched from the heavy rain outside. I've been sitting on an extremely uncomfortable chair in the hallway, with a teacup in my hand, ever since I put Julian to bed a good few hours ago, anxiously waiting for Harry to return home from wherever he went.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologies, and the guilt-ridden look in his eyes underlines his verbal apology. "It took longer than I thought it would," he sighs, and walking up to me, he wriggles out of his soaking wet jean jacket before he leans in to kiss my cheek. "Let me get changed and I'll explain," he whispers into my ear and I shudder – he sounds far too mysterious for my liking.

"You've five minutes exactly, before I hex your balls to India," I hiss, and Harry winces and takes a precautionary step back.

"I better hurry then," he grins and dashes up the stairs. I just about manage to call after him to be quiet because Julian's fast asleep in his bed before he's out of sight and earshot.

***

"Explain," I order as I hand Harry a mug filled with steaming hot tea. He smiles gratefully and wrapping both his hands around the mug. He lifts it to his lips, blows gently and takes a tiny sip of tea before letting out a satisfied sigh.

"I've issued a news blackout," Harry spills the beans, and gasping I stumble backwards. Clutching at the modern kitchen counter I steady myself and stare at Harry as though he's suddenly grown a second head. "Well, for Skeeter at least," Harry continues and a gleeful smile is dancing in his eyes. "She's been escorted out of her home by the orders of the Minister for Magic and is currently being held in one of the cells in the Ministry of Magic after having been interrogated under the influence of Veritaserum."

"What on Earth have you got on her that you managed to detain her in such a cloak-and-dagger operation?" I ask. I can't quite believe my own words. If Skeeter is being held by the Ministry and Potter has issued a news blackout on all her articles for the next few days, then maybe, just maybe, Pansy will stand a chance and we can protect Julian from being dragged through the mud.

"Skeeter is an unregistered Animagus." Harry winks at me, and choking on my own spit, I cough.

"She's what?" I croak and gratefully accept the glass of water Harry Conjured up out of nowhere.

"Skeeter is an unregistered Animagus," Harry smiles. "I've known for a good while, thanks to Hermione."

"And you never acted on it?"

"She never gave me any reason to, until tonight. I'm suspecting she's involved in some shady activities using her Animagus form."

"And is she?"

"Of course not, but I pulled out all the stops to ensure I can justify locking her up until the date for her trial before the Wizengamot is set."

"Harry…" I whisper and taking a couple of sips of the cool water, I shake my head. I can't quite believe what's happened.

"Don't Harry me, Draco. I expect you to ensure that Pansy and Julian leave the country tomorrow night, together with your mother. Keep Julian out of the public until this crappy inheritance nonsense is all over. And find out who knocked Pansy up before I hex both of you."

Shell-shocked, I nod before my knees give away and I black out in the middle of Harry's kitchen.

TBC


	40. Chapter 40

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 40:**

**Harry's POV, the next morning**

Draco and Julian are still asleep upstairs in my bed, so I prowl around downstairs impatiently waiting for them to wake. I'm still pissed as hell at him, but I admit my heart was in my throat last night when he fainted on my kitchen floor. While he definitely has a flare for the dramatic, I've never known him to actually pass out, so it was a shock to see his knees buckle in the middle of our conversation. If I hadn't caught him he'd have bashed his head on the counter, but my years of Auror duty kicked in the minute I saw him start to sway, and I was able to get to him before he came close to injuring himself. I've seen plenty of suspects and victims faint from fear or exhaustion, so luckily I was able to keep my head and not wake Julian.

A quick Firecall to the Manor confirmed that Draco didn't have a history of this sort of histrionics, and Narcissa was happy to send the family Healer over to take a look at him, despite the late hour. The scans the man ran showed Draco hadn't eaten anything substantial in days and had been even longer without sleep, probably why his body had given out so abruptly when I yelled at him.

I pace around the kitchen, tidying the already-clean space and renewing the Warming Charms on the breakfast Kreacher made for everyone hours ago. The Healer gave Draco several nutrient potions last night, but he made it clear he'd need to eat several hearty meals to get himself back up to strength. The only reason I wasn't bounding up the stairs to wake him and force some food down his throat was the fact that the Healer had _also_ said it was imperative that he catch up on his rest. A vial of Dreamless Sleep had ensured he'd remain unconscious all night, giving his body time to metabolize the potions the Healer had given him and giving his mind a chance to wrap itself around all the recent revelations.

"Still not up yet?" A voice calls from the Floo, and I turn to see Narcissa's head floating in the fire in the study.

I hurry in, closing the French doors behind me so our voices won't wake Draco or his son.

"No sign of stirring yet from either of them," I answer, kneeling before the hearth so she can see me. I barely managed to keep her away last night, but I doubted having her here would have done any good. "Does Jules usually sleep this late?"

Narcissa looks away, I assume at a clock on her hearth.

"No, but Pansy tells me he's been having nightmares lately. I imagine he needs the extra rest as well."

I nod, my lips pursed in an angry line at the revelation that we haven't been doing as good a job as we should of keeping all this from the little boy. I can see Narcissa feels the same way from the glint in her eye.

"Are you and Pansy packed and ready to go? I'll send Julian through the Floo to you as soon as he's up and fed," I say, fiddling with a pile of kindling next to the fireplace to burn off my nervous energy. I want Julian as far away from here as he can legally be, and I want it to happen as soon as possible. I'd send Draco with them if I could, but I know I'd never convince him to go. "Draco tells me you know who the father is?" I ask, not mincing words. Narcissa has always appreciated bluntness, even though she often accuses me of being uncouth.

"I do, but it's not mine to tell," she answers. There are no shouts from the background to mind my own business, so I assume Pansy isn't nearby.

"As long as it's not Draco," I say, unable to keep the pleading tone out of my voice. I want to believe him, I do, but it's hard, especially with the distant way he's been acting lately and the completely out-of-character fainting fit last night.

"She tells me it's not, and I have no reason to doubt her," Narcissa answers. A year or two ago I might not have noticed the hedging, but I've been immersed in Slytherin politics for long enough now to know she hasn't actually answered my question. There must be at least an inkling of doubt in her mind. I let it go, deciding to put my faith in Draco.

"I see," I answer, and I can tell it's an appropriately Slytherin response from the way her lips quirk into a tiny smile. That's high praise from the Malfoy matriarch. "I'll Firecall when they wake."

She nods, and I'm sorry to see the tight worry lines around her eyes and mouth. This is taking its toll on her as well, and it can't be over soon enough, in my opinion.

"See that you do."

The fire winks out, and I can't help but grin at her abrupt dismissal. So Malfoy-like.

I spend the rest of the morning reading the textbook chapters Draco has been after me to review. I should be at work, but there's no way I can concentrate knowing Draco hasn't woken up yet and Julian isn't safely stowed away somewhere remote. I'm making notes on some more controversial points when I hear the low rumble of voices overhead. They must be up.

Kreacher has already banished the breakfast food and replaced it with fare more suited to brunch, given that it's already 11 a.m. I have a plate ready for each of them when they finally descend the stairs, looking rumpled but well-rested.

Julian's eyes grow large as he spots the cinnamon buns Kreacher has baked just for him, and he's in his seat like a shot, digging into the eggs and bacon I've put on his plate, somehow knowing he'll have to eat them before being allowed the sweet. Draco drags along behind him, stopping at the sideboard to pour himself a cup of coffee before sliding into the seat next to me. He gives me a kiss on the cheek and then looks around for the newspaper, obviously put out when he doesn't find it.

"Eat first," I say, and like Julian, he seems to sense I'm not to be disobeyed today. Unlike them I haven't had the benefit of hours of restful sleep; I'm on edge and it must be showing. Draco gives the plate piled high with toast, eggs, fruit and sausage an incredulous look, but tucks in anyway when I glare at him. "Healer's orders."

He looks up, puzzled.

"You fainted last night. Don't you remember? Your family Healer came by and pumped you full of nutrient potions and Dreamless Sleep. He said you haven't been taking care of yourself."

Draco has the grace to look embarrassed, and another glare from me gets him eating again.

"Julian, your mum and Grandmother Narcissa are waiting for you at the Manor. As soon as you've finished I'll have Kreacher wrap up a few of those cinnamon buns for you and I'll take you over. The three of you are going on a bit of a holiday," I say, and Julian grins with excitement.

"_You_ are to finish everything I put in front of you and then spend the rest of the day relaxing. A nap probably wouldn't be out of order, either," I say, eying the dark circles that are still present, though less prominent, under Draco's eyes.

He sputters something in protest, but I'm not having any of it. I can't be there for him in public, since our relationship is under wraps, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let him keep pushing me away in private.

"I'll have my notes on the chapters you've given me by this afternoon, and you can look them over before dinner."

Draco nods, looking both shocked and impressed by my take-charge attitude. I feel like I'm channeling Molly Weasley in her full nurturing furore at the moment and it seems that he can sense that. Good. It's time he started listening to me.

***

I move the laptop aside on the sofa cushions, rubbing at my eyes tiredly. True to my word, I've finished my notes on the textbook Draco's been working on lately. He truly does have a talent for writing about historical events – he can almost make things come alive, no matter how boring the subject matter.

He's upstairs, presumably sleeping, though I doubt he is. I saw him grab a book from the library on his way up, but I didn't begrudge him the entertainment. The important thing is that he's off his feet and resting, and I don't mind that he'd rather read than sleep, so long as he's not arguing with me about it.

I trudge upstairs, intent on dragging him down for tea. He claimed he was too full from his late breakfast to have lunch when I ate a few hours ago, and I let him off the hook when Kreacher promised to make a more substantial tea for us after Draco's nap.

When I poke my head around my bedroom door, though, I'm surprised to see he actually _is_ asleep. The book he snuck upstairs is lying open next to him, and from the looks of it, he didn't get very far before dozing off.

I wonder if I should let him sleep, but the Healer's instructions to make sure he doesn't skip any more meals come back to me. He's already missed lunch, and at this rate he'll miss tea or have it so late he won't want dinner. I sit on the edge of the bed, brushing his hair out of his eyes. He's let it get longer than he usually does, and I like seeing it tousled like this. He stirs under my hand, instinctively moving closer to my touch.

I run my hand down the blanket, tickling over his torso before resting it on his hip. He squirms at the contact but doesn't wake, even when I find my prize, cupping his half-hard cock through the covers. Watching his face carefully, I peel back the blankets, delighted to find that he's slipped into bed naked. It makes my next task much easier.

Grinning to myself, I duck my head, pulling him into my mouth in one smooth motion. He gasps and wakes immediately, blood rushing to his cock and bringing him to full hardness after just a few sucks.

"Fucking hell," he groans sleepily, edging up on his elbow to look down at me. I smile around his cock, winking at him before continuing to suck and lick at his length. He falls back heavily against the pillows, his hands coming up to rest against my shoulder and twine through my hair encouragingly. I chuckle, the vibrations making him yelp out loud again.

He's still too disoriented to really move, but I can tell he's enjoying my wake-up call, so I quicken the pace, bringing a hand up to cup and squeeze his balls lightly. He makes a choked sound, his entire body tensing before he shoots ribbons of come down my throat. I wasn't quite prepared for his orgasm – he's usually not quite that quick off the draw – but it does reassure me that he hasn't been screwing around with Pansy. My own cock throbs, and I grind against the mattress trying to get enough friction to bring myself off.

He pushes at my shoulders, and I let his softening cock slide out of my mouth. I press a kiss against his inner thigh before I roll over, fumbling with my trousers so I can push them out of the way and fist myself properly. He's awake enough now to take an interest in what I'm doing, and I laugh when I see him watching my hand fly over my shaft, absolutely enraptured by the sight of me wanking. He leans in just before I come, capturing my mouth with his and tasting himself on my tongue. He deepens the kiss as I start to buck, swallowing my cries as I coat my hand with my own come. We keep kissing, though the pace turns languid as we each regain our breath. Merlin, I've missed this so much. I don't know if it's the worry or the stress or the phenomenally good sex, but I just can't keep it to myself anymore. I pull away, feathering kisses over his brow and down his jaw.

"I love you."

TBC


	41. Chapter 41

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 41:**

**Draco's POV, two days later, Malfoy Chateau, France**

"You're an idiot, Draco, a complete and utter idiot." Pansy shakes her head at me and, crossing her arms over her chest, she glares at me. "He told you he loves you and you bloody fucking bolt! Are you out of your mind?"

"Rub it in…" I sigh, and to avoid actually looking Pansy in the eye, I glance past her and at Julian, who is happily splashing about in an inflatable water pool, which Harry gave him a while back. It's nice and sunny today and he Julian insisted on bringing the water pool out. Mother wasn't too pleased with her grandson's decision to spend the day in the pool, but whatever Mother tried; there was just no reasoning with Julian this morning. He wanted the pool and not even being offered his play-broomstick managed to change his mind. Even from where I'm sitting I can tell that Mother isn't very pleased with Julian's choice of toy, but she's dutifully playing her role of being a good grandmother by watching over Julian. Her dress is soaked with water, but much to my astonishment she has actually rolled up her sleeves and is Conjuring up toys that Julian can use in the water.

"Well I'm certainly not going to tell you that what you did was right!" Pansy snaps. "Harry would cut off his right arm for you and Julian and this is how you repay him. You owe him everything! He went out of his way to stop Skeeter from ruining not only our lives but also Julian's. And there was me thinking you actually have some common sense… apparently I was wrong."

Snapping my head around, I glare at Pansy and purse my lips. "What's love got to do with common sense?" I hiss and she rolls her eyes.

"I'm still talking about the fact that you bolted, you idiot. Now get off your fucking arse and get back to London to fix what you so royally fucked up before it's too late."

"Would you stop talking to me like this?"

"I don't think so. I've every right to talk to you any way I want." Pansy glares and, uncrossing her arms, she leans forward and reaches for her glass of pumpkin juice, enriched with herbs and vitamins to nurture her body during her pregnancy.

"These hormones of yours are out of control," I sigh.

"My hormones are in perfect order, thank you very much, Draco! And don't change the subject! It's you we're talking about right now, moron you!"

"I'm not changing the subject; I was merely stating a fact…" I roll my eyes at Pansy. She really does drive me up the wall. I haven't got the faintest idea how Mother manages to cope with her mood-swings.

"Whatever!" Pansy huffs at me. "Get your arse back to London, you're not welcome here. Not until you've sorted out the mess you've got yourself into."

"And what about the mess you've got yourself into?" I snarl, motioning at Pansy's clearly visible bump. A moron can tell she's pregnant, not gaining weight – she initially tried to tell me she'd just put on a few stones.

"I haven't got the faintest idea what you're talking about." Pansy shrugs and I'm about an inch away from getting up and strangling her with my bare hands.

"Oh you know very well what I'm talking about," I retort.

"I'm not telling you if that's what you're on about. It's none of your business whose child I'm carrying."

"I'm Julian's father…"

"Yes, that's quite true. But this one here isn't yours so you can't make me tell you." Pansy gives me a challenging look and throwing my hands up in the air, I admit defeat. I've had it up to here – there's too much estrogen around me, it's unbearable. Mother's constant nagging about my eating and sleeping habits are infuriating – I'm a grown man for Merlin's sake – and Pansy is being a royal pain in the arse. Maybe I really made the wrong decision when I activated the Portkey to travel to the chateau father bought mother for their first wedding anniversary after bolting from Harry's home. It definitely was a spur of the moment decision. I just didn't know how to deal with Harry's confession so I ran.

Since arriving at the chateau, I've bitterly regretted walking out on Harry like I did – it was silly. It was stupid, it was me panicking. I don't actually mind that he told me he loves me, in fact, the memory of those words actually make me feel all fuzzy inside. I can't help but smile at the loving look, Harry had in his eyes, just before he uttered those three words that made me dart from the room faster than a lightning bolt. He looked so utterly sincere, so sure about what he was saying. Pansy really is right – I am an idiot. A big fucking idiot! I've once again managed to bury myself neck-deep in trouble and I didn't even have any intention to do so this time. It's about time I grow up and act my age.

Without even as much as a glance at Pansy, I gracefully stand up and walking over to where Julian's playing in the water pool, I kneel down and open my arms wide. I don't even need to call Julian's name to get his attention – he turns to face me even though my footsteps are muffled in the thick, green grass. With a shriek, he drops his toys and running through the water, he stumbles over the edge of the pool and falls into my arms, soaking my t-shirt. But I don't care. Wrapping my arms tightly around Julian's lithe body, I pick him up and squeeze him. It feels so good to be able to hold him and I once again have to firmly bite my tongue to make sure I don't blurt out the truth about him and me.

"Jules. I'm going back to London, okay?" I whisper and looking at me with big, blue eyes, Julian pushes his bottom lip forward and shakes his head.

"Please stay," he pleads and my heart breaks in two.

"I can't, sweetheart, I've some grown-up stuff to take care of," I sigh, and my heart grows even heavier. I don't ever want to let go of Julian. I just want to freeze time and never ever let him go. It's not right that I'm keeping this secret from him – Harry is right. Julian deserves to know. And in all honesty – what harm could it do if Julian knew about us? Knew that I'm his father…

"Will you be back?" Julian asks, sounding hopeful.

"Of course. I always come back."

"Will you bring Uncle Harry?"

"Harry has to work, Jules. I don't think I can bring him here."

"Please ask," Julian pouts. Seriously, that child will be the death of me…

"I will, I promise." I smile and pressing a kiss onto Julian's forehead, I squeeze him once more, before setting him down. "I love you, little man."

"I love you too." Julian smiles, and then he abruptly turns away and clambers back into the pool. Glancing up at my mother – who silently witnessed Julian's and my conversation – I shake my head when she opens her mouth. She gives me a pointed look but obediently closes her mouth again and nods. I mouth a quick 'thanks' before getting to my feet and walking off into the direction of the chateau. I've an important conversation waiting for me in London…

TBC


	42. Chapter 42

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 42:**

**Harry's POV, about two weeks later**

I sip my drink, a ridiculously fruity concoction with jauntily colored umbrellas sticking out of it, as I scan the deck. The pool is filled with laughing men – gorgeous, toned, bronzed and oh-so-available men, just like the brochure Hermione thrust into my hands a week ago promised.

A bloody singles cruise. I scowl at my drink as though it has personally insulted me, which to be honest, it has. The bartender – also gorgeous, toned, bronzed and available, as well as interested, if the room number he wrote on my napkin is any clue – refused to serve me a whisky on the rocks, telling me it was too dour for our present setting. While he was probably right that a fruity frozen drink is less out of place on a sunny Caribbean cruise, it definitely would have fit my dour mood better than the overly sweet creation in my hand.

I _know_ Hermione had my best interests at heart when she booked me onto this cruise, but I don't think she actually understood what a gay cruise would be like. Or at least, I _hope_ she didn't. I watch an oiled teen, who is probably just this side of legal, sidle up to an older, hairy man. The two of them walk off together toward the cabins, and my stomach rolls. Seven days of sun and fun was what the cruise line promised, and so far it has delivered on the former but not the latter. Raucous chorus lines and drag performances aren't my cup of tea, not that I could even _get_ a decent cup of tea on this American ship. Almost everyone on board – and according to the cruise director, there are 2,000 of us crammed like sardines into the tiny cabins – is American, with the exception of a group of a dozen Australian men who've come together. The other passengers are also, as a rule, interested in little more than getting drunk and shagging. Quite a few are here with long-time partners, but there are others like the boy, I'd just seen pick up the older man, looking for one-night stands. I crumple my napkin in my palm, obscuring the bartender's handwriting.

I hadn't been worried when I woke the morning after I told Draco I loved him to find myself alone in bed. Hours later, though, when I realized that not only was he not in the house, he wasn't in the _country_, I went a bit mad. I hadn't planned to lay it on the line like that, though I certainly didn't regret telling how I feel, though I should have known he'd bail the moment I did.

Luckily Hermione had planned to stop by for dinner that evening, saving me from breaking every piece of crockery I owned. I couldn't make her understand it wasn't _him_ I was angry with, it was myself. I knew I was more involved than he was, but my brain hadn't been able to make my heart – or my prick, as Ron later pointed out – see reason. Draco never promised me anything, and I have no right to expect anything at all from him. Which is why I'm in a self-imposed exile on this bloody ship, listening to bad calypso music and drinking the watery, fruity travesties that the bartenders pass off as alcohol. If I wasn't here, I'd be at the Ministry tracking down every known address for Draco, and it just wouldn't do to lose the last shred of my dignity by showing up at one of his properties and begging him to forget I told him I loved him so we could keep going on as we had been.

The pile of Muggle magazines by my side aren't holding my interest any more than the pretty boys in the pool are, so I swing my feet over the edge of my chaise lounge and root around underneath it for my sandals, which never seem to be where they should be. I grin, amused yet again by the fact that the cruise director insists we wear shoes at all times to prevent diseases from being spread but never says a word about condoms or safe sex. Not that I'm at risk there, since I have no desire to shag anyone but Draco.

My Sunblock Charm is probably close to wearing off anyway, so I head inside. The cool, air conditioned interior of the ship is a welcome relief from the sweltering temperature outside, though I hate the claustrophobic feeling of being inside. I'm glad I splurged on my cabin, upgrading to one that has a balcony so I actually get fresh air and daylight. I don't think I could handle being in one of the lower rooms that don't even have a window. As Hermione pointed out, lack of sunshine would likely only make my depression worse.

I fish out my key, using wandless magic to dispel the wards I set before I left. Since I'm usually in T-shirts and shorts I can't very well walk around with my wand on me, but I don't dare leave it in my room without some sort of protection. I haven't sensed any other wizards on board, but years as an Auror has insured I don't take stupid chances. Other than in my love life, I think scathingly, re-warding the door behind me and flopping on the bed. The room is tiny, but it hardly matters; there's never anyone here but me, and I don't need much space to wallow in self-pity.

The first day of the cruise all I could think about was how Draco would react to certain things – the Bacchanalian cast-off party, where everyone wore togas fashioned out of bedclothes and drank themselves silly, the hideous decorations, and the rough duvet on the bed. Not thinking about him makes me even more miserable, but I'm making an attempt to edit my thoughts a bit.

I'm surprised to see an owl sitting on my balcony, looking quite out of place. No one but Hermione and Kingsley know where I am, and even they couldn't know exactly where in the Caribbean the ship would be. I open the sliding glass door, easing out onto the miniscule balcony that is only just big enough for the two chairs crammed onto it. The scroll clutched in the owl's talons doesn't have a Ministry seal on it, but I don't recognize it, and I know all of Hermione and Ron's owls.

It clicks at me disgustedly, and I can almost hear the reprimand in its voice for being so far from home. I can't imagine the flight it must have taken to get here, or how it managed to find me out at sea.

"I'm sorry," I tell the bird, realizing these are the first words I've spoken, that weren't drink orders or rebukes on unwanted advances, in days. "You must have had a long flight. Do you want to come in and rest?"

The owl gives me a dismissive look, and suddenly I _know_ who the owl is from. It _has_ to be from Draco – who else would have an owl that could manage to be cold and dismissive?

"Alright, I'll leave you be," I tell it, Conjuring a bowl of water and some treats for it. It watches me with amber eyes as I head back inside, leaving the door cracked enough it can follow later if it changes its mind.

I want to toss the scroll into the bin and forget about it, but I can't, especially now that I've seen the writing on the outside. It's definitely from Draco. I bite my lip, indecisive. I'm stuck here on this ship for another four days, and I don't know what would be worse – reading something that will shatter the last of my self-control and dignity or having the damn letter hanging over my head unread.

I blow out a breath, reaching for the scroll. _Of course_ I'll read it. I've been dying for any news from him for nearly two and a half weeks, and I can't help but be curious about where he went and what he has to tell me that's important enough to send an owl thousands of miles.

TBC


	43. Chapter 43

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 43:**

**Draco's POV, 25 minutes later**

Pacing around the spacious lounge of the familiar hotel room, I nervously fidget with my wand. Harry should be here by now – providing of course that my owl found him in the middle of the Caribbean Sea and providing he decided to open the scroll that I sent him.

Casting a few unnecessary Cleaning and Dusting Charms, I check that the white lilies on the coffee table – Harry's favorite flowers – have enough water. A pointless action really, considering that I checked the water level inside the vase less than a bloody half hour ago. Oh this suspense is killing me, and I'm almost convinced that I made all this effort for nothing – all the trouble with the hotel staff, who just couldn't understand why I was so adamant about my request to get exactly the same suite Harry and I shared months ago when I snuck him out of his assignment on Shacklebolt's orders…

Digging my heels into the ground, I force myself to stop pacing the room – I look like a raving lunatic, and that's really not what I want Harry to see when and if he does appear. It's difficult to remain calm, though. After returning to London from my trip to mother's chateau in France to visit Pansy and my son, I was fairly put out to find Harry had left the country. His co-workers at the Ministry didn't know where exactly he'd gone, and Shacklebolt was out of the country on conference – as ever. It took having to stalk Hermione Granger for a solid four days before she gave in and spilled the beans on Harry's whereabouts.

I wasn't particularly delighted to learn that he'd gone on a gay single's cruise – courtesy of Hermione – but I didn't let it show. Though I'm fairly certain that she sensed my rotten mood about Harry's hush-hush disappearance – that sour look she gave me clearly just solidified my point. Everyone I know is on Harry's side – even my mother of all people thinks I've made a big mistake by bolting. I'm supposed to be a grown man; I'm supposed to be responsible, reliable and trustworthy, yet when somebody, I care about so much that thinking about them not being at my side makes my heart ache, tells me that they love me I run miles.

It's moments like this when I'm glad that Julian doesn't know who I really am. It's moments like this when I want to slap myself. It's moments like this when I realize just how much Pansy cares about me – even though she'd never admit it out loud – and just how much my mother was influenced by my father – she's changed so much since he's out of the picture for good.

Snapping out of my thoughts, I lift my head and stare at the image of me in the mirror above the huge couch. I'm barefoot and the slightly torn light-blue jeans are riding low on my hips – I like it this way, though. Those jeans are my favorite pair – I've had them for years, hence the reason they look so worn. On top of my jeans I'm wearing a simple black shirt – with a fitting slogan stretching across my toned chest. I had the shirt made in a Muggle t-shirt print shop in London earlier this week – I thought it would suit my impending meeting with Harry – providing he's decided to open my scroll and read the few words I scrambled onto it…

A loud rumble has me spinning around, and I watch as a stunned-looking Harry Potter feebly tries to keep his balance after what appears to have been a rough Portkey journey, but miserably fails to remain upright and topples over and lands on his backside. I simultaneously smirk and rush to help Harry to his feet, but stop in my track when Harry points his wand at me and glares.

"Explain!" he snarls angrily – his eyes are blazing.

"I didn't think you'd accept a written invitation…" I shrug.

"So you send me a Portkey?"

I nod sheepishly, and even though I'm tempted to take a step back – Harry looks far too infuriated for me to want to be anywhere near him at this moment in time – I stand my ground.

"I should've known you'd do something so Slytherin!" Harry huffs, and slowly getting to his feet, he unnecessarily brushes his shorts off and keeping his wand pointed right at my chest, he waves his free hand and my wand slips out of my hand and flies into his direction. He catches it with virtually no effort at all and I can't help but roll my eyes – ever the Seeker, he always needs to show off.

"I didn't send you a Portkey to hex you, Harry, really." I shake my head, but Harry continues to glare.

"I don't trust you right now," he mutters and looks around the room. His gaze lingers on the lilies for a few seconds, before he turns back to me and gives me a pointed look. "Where are we?"

"Don't you recognize this room at all?" I ask, slightly put out that I've obviously gone into all of this trouble for nothing.

Harry looks around again and after a few moments, realization finally dawns on him and for the split of a second there's a faint smile tugging on the corners of his lips – but it's gone before it even stands a chance.

"World's biggest moron, eh?" he chuckles, reading the slogan on my shirt out loud, and I nod.

"Thought it might be fitting…" I say and taking a cautionary step forward, I crook my head to the side, expectantly waiting for Harry's response. He shrugs and, encouraged by fact that he hasn't thrown a curse at me yet, I slowly walk over to Harry, who still looks somewhat disgruntled. I suppose the fact of suddenly finding himself whisked away from his cabin on that ridiculous cruise ship must've shocked him quite a bit. I thought about including a little warning in my brief note on the scroll, but for some reason I was convinced Harry wouldn't have touched the Charmed Malfoy signet ring, I owled him, had he known what to expect. So I used a bit of Slytherin trickery – and my faith in Harry's Seeker skills – when I pulled the silver ring, with the official Malfoy seal – which I've been wearing since my 13th birthday – off my finger, transformed it into a Portkey, activated it to react to human body heat and securely wrapped it into the parchment my faithful owl delivered straight to Harry's cabin on that dratted cruise ship.

"Well, I don't know about that," Harry mumbles, idly playing with my ring and slipping it from his thumb to his index finger and back.

"I'm sorry." I look into Harry's vivid green eyes and I can clearly see the hurt in them, which just makes me feel even worse. I know I've made a mistake, but it's not fair that he rubs it in like this before I've even had the chance to explain myself, to apologize, to explain why I ran.

"For what exactly?" he pushes, and for the split of a second I feel like wrapping my hands around his throat and strangling him. But then the almost overpowering feeling to touch Harry, to pull him close, to wrap my arms tightly around his muscular body, to breathe in his heavenly scent and brush my lips against his neck takes over and my hand twitches. I don't know how, but I manage to stall myself and, pushing both my hands deep into the pockets of my jeans, I swallow a sigh and chew on my bottom lip. This is harder than I thought it would be. I had the inkling that confronting Harry about my feelings for him – after running miles from his confession – wouldn't be a walk in the park, but I find it almost impossible to open my mouth. I had it all planned out before he got here. I had planned for every eventuality, had countless of retorts ready to fire at Harry's head. But now that Harry's here and I'm standing a mere foot away from him, my mind is blank. Everything's just gone, and I'm running on instinct alone.

"For running." I shrug, and I feel like someone's drenched me with a bucket of ice-cold water minus the wet. I've never done anything like this before – the last time I stood in front of somebody with my heart bared for everyone to stick a knife into it was a month after Pansy told me she was pregnant and that the baby – Julian – was mine.

"That's quite okay. I figured you didn't feel the same. There was no need to summon me off that ship, I was enjoying myself there. An explanation via owl post would've done the job just fine."

"See, this is where you're wrong. I do feel the same," I say earnestly, and for a moment Harry gapes, then he catches himself and, straightening his back, he purses his lips and locks his eyes on mine. I let him; I know he isn't about to use any magic on me. I can't help but smile when, about a minute later; he takes a surprised step back, looking positively flabbergasted.

"You do?" He's resorted to a whisper – clearly he doesn't trust his voice not to break.

"I do. I realized that about an hour after I arrived at the chateau in France where mother is entertaining Pansy and Julian," I confess.

"Then why did it take you two weeks to get in touch?"

"Well, I returned to London three days after I vanished. It took me four days to get hold of Granger – to get five minutes with her is more difficult than an to get an audience with Shacklebolt. By the time I got Granger–""

"Hermione," Harry interrupts with a glare.

"Hermione," I smile. "By the time I got a chance to talk to Hermione, I'd figured out that you weren't in London, or England, but I'd no idea where you actually were. Gra– _Hermione_ wasn't very helpful to begin with; it took four solid days of constantly harassing her and begging on my knees to get her to reveal your top-secret location. And then it took three days to book this room and decorate it, set up the Portkey and send out my owl. Does this explanation suffice?"

"It's acceptable, I guess." Potter shrugs, and for a mere second I once again feel the urge to strangle him. That man is harder to crack than a dragon's egg, and that's saying something.

"Me telling you that I love you too – even though it's two weeks late – is acceptable?" I arch my eyebrow and Harry gives me a pointed look. "Potter!" I snarl and he chuckles. A chuckle wasn't quite the response I had in mind, but at least it's some sort of a reaction – I don't like it when Harry pretends to be nonchalant about things when I damn well know that he's not.

"Malfoy," Harry doesn't disappoint. "That shirt of yours ought to read _'The universe's biggest moron',_" he teases, and dropping both our wands to the floor, he takes half a step forward and slips his arm around my waist. His hand rests on my lower back and I shudder at the touch – I forbade myself to think about how good Harry's touch feels, but now that he's actually holding on to me it all comes crashing down on me like an oversized wave. Without the slightest bit of hesitation I pounce on Harry and send him flying to the floor for the second time in less than an hour as I press my lips against his.

***

"I'm still mad at you, you know," Harry mumbles some two hours later as he brushes a stray, wet strand of my blond hair from my cheek. We're lying in the center of the massive canopy bed in the master bedroom of the suite. Our limbs are an entangled mess and I have no idea where I end and Harry begins. We're still somewhat out of breath, our bodies are covered with sticky sweat and come and our hair is plastered to our heads. The room reeks of sex and sweat and even though it's not particularly pleasant – nor is our current position, what with most of the bed sheets being on the floor – but I really couldn't care any less.

"What else do I need to do to appease you? I whisked you here, told you that I feel the same and spend the last two hours making love to you. There isn't much more I can do, short of marrying you, which is an idea that, at this point in time, you can scratch because it ain't gonna happen." I roll my eyes at Harry. Seriously, trust Potter to be an insatiable git the moment he gets his hands on me. I almost feel like I should regret the fact that I've gone into all this trouble to confess my feelings to Harry, but it would be a lie. I'm feeling quite good about myself now that Harry knows. I forgot just how good it feels to look into somebody's eyes and realize that you love them and that they love you. Yes, I know it's sappy, but right now I don't give a damn. I'm exhausted, I'm thoroughly shagged and I'm in seventh Heaven. The world could come crashing down around me and Harry right this moment, Voldemort could come back to life – I honestly wouldn't care. Right now I've all I need…

TBC


	44. Chapter 44

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 44:**

**Harry's POV, three hours later**

Draco couldn't look more out of place if he tried, and I can't help but take vindictive pleasure in it. He's up on stage with four other men and the cruise director, dressed in the most hideous drag outfit I've ever seen. I think he's supposed to be Carmen Miranda, if the bowl of fruit strapped to his head is anything to go by. That's not the best part of the outfit by far, though; the sequined bikini top and sarong skirt take the cake. Even dressed in that ridiculous get-up, though, he looks amazing, and I can feel my cock twitch with interest when he shakes his hips at the cruise director's insistence, a dark scowl on his face. His milky pale skin stands out beautifully against the crimson top, and the sarong sits low enough I can see the trail of fine blond hair that winds down his abdomen.

I'm quite sure he hadn't expected me to ask him to leave the luxurious hotel room he'd taken such pains to prepare for us and come back to the ship, but I wanted _him_ to be the one off-balance, not me. And as a testament to his remorse, he actually came. I never thought his regret would carry him _this_ far, though – I'd fully expected him to point blank refuse when the jovial cruise director singled him out to come up on stage, but he'd just given me a long-suffering sigh and gone along. I was glad I'd forced him to leave his wand in my room a bit later when the costumes came out; I doubt his self-restraint would have held up to the temptation to hex the men who'd stripped him down to his boxers and forced him into the skimpy top and loose skirt.

It was easy to bring him aboard. Since the ship was docked just off Antigua, I had no problem Apparating us back – it would have been a different story if the ship had been moving. A quick Memory Charm on the cruise director and a few of the other staff members had them believing Draco had been on the ship the entire time, and the other vacationers were too drunk to realize he hadn't been.

I relax against the post, watching Draco lead a conga line across the deck. I'm not at all surprised when the man I see pinch his arse gets pushed into the pool. It appears Draco's patience has run out. I laugh as he makes his way through the crowd back to me, glaring at anyone who dares try to touch or speak to him. I sip my neon pink drink, actually enjoying the taste for the first time all cruise. My mood finally matches the sweet fruity liquid.

***

I wake up disoriented, apparently lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking of the boat on the waves. For a second I think we're still on the cruise ship, but then I recognize the soft hammock I'm suspended in and realize we're about as far from that mass-produced commercial nightmare as we can be.

Well, not literally. I'm pretty sure the ship is still docked a few islands over, but we're not on it anymore. Shortly after the Carmen Miranda incident Draco owled his mother, who arranged for the Malfoy yacht to meet us at the cruise ship's next port. A few spells to erase us from the ship's registry and we were on our way.

The hammock dips dangerously, and my eyes pop open again, startled to find myself nearly dumped on the deck. Draco laughs, steadying the rocking with his leg braced against the wood before easing his way in next to me, his skin cool from his latest dip in the water. He burrows against my sun and sleep-warmed skin, and I shiver as he gets me wet.

"Much better," he murmurs, claiming my mouth in a slow, undemanding kiss that's perfect for the idyllic, lazy setting.

"There are Drying Charms for that, you know," I mutter, wrapping my arms around him and deepening the kiss.

He laughs, pulling back slightly and shaking his wet head, sending droplets of water cascading over both of us. I growl and lunge for him, upsetting the hammock. He huffs out a breath as he lands on the deck, groaning when I land on top of him. We look at each other for a moment in stunned silence before bursting out laughing. He wrestles with me on the deck until he's on top, sitting up and straddling my legs as he holds my arms in place.

"How much longer is your leave?" he asks me, and I swallow at the sudden dryness in my throat. I have no doubt that Draco Malfoy will keep me here on this yacht as long as he can. And I'll let him, because it's the perfect place to bugger each other senseless while avoiding the problems we left behind back on land.

"The cruise goes for another two days," I say, my voice hoarse from laughter and desire. "I'd planned to spend another few days in the States before going home. I have about a week before I'm expected back at the Ministry."

He hums in approval and shifts his hips, his hardening erection pressing against my thigh.

"Good."

TBC


	45. Chapter 45

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 45:**

**Draco's POV, two weeks later**

"I still can't believe it. Theodore Nott of all people…" I sigh and, running my hands through my, by now, messy hair, I brush it back and attempt to get off the couch, but Harry is quick to wrap his hand around my wrist and yank me back. I allow him to pull me into his strong arms, and molding against his warm and firm body, I bury my face in his chest and breathe deeply, inhaling the familiar scent. I wish I could turn back time, I wish we could still be out on the yacht, shagging each other senseless seven times a day, bathing in the warm sun, swimming with the dolphins and not caring about anything or anyone in the world but each other. But alas, it's not meant to be. We had to leave the dream behind and return to our dull London lives…

"Why is it bothering you so much?" Harry whispers, and I can't help but moan softly when he repeatedly runs his fingertips through my hair, massaging my scalp. At this stage Harry knows very well what calms me down, and he's using it to his advantage at any given opportunity.

"It's not bothering me," I sigh. "I should've known, really. She's had a thing for him since the beginning of our sixth year in Hogwarts, never admitted it out loud though back then. I should've known she'd act on it at some point, but to let him knock her up? Oh it's beyond me! Julian won't understand."

"I have to admit it really is one hell of a complicated family background," Harry chuckles, and I punch him in the side, causing him to yelp. Raising my head slightly, I sit up, and with a dignified glare, I straighten my clothes.

"Don't you go blaming this on me!" I growl, and Harry laughs even more.

"I'm not, not at all." He smiles, and before I can quite comprehend what's going on, I find myself sprawled out flat on the couch with Harry right on top of me. He's bracing himself on his arms and his green eyes are twinkling down at me. There's a lopsided smirk playing around his lips, and even though I feel the intense urge to punch him in the face rise to the surface, I resist. I don't know how in the world he manages to be so calm about this whole thing, amused even. I've a son, – thanks to a dratted, over-powerful Lust Potion – whom I can't officially claim, and who knows me but doesn't know who I really am. My son's mother, the grieving widow of the recently deceased Count Abernathy, is involved in a bitter fight about her rightful inheritance with some of the Count's family members, who are resentful and poncy.

Coincidentally, my son's mother is also expecting a second child in a few months, and it's her teenage crush of all people who knocked her up and with whom she's been having an on and off affair with – unbeknown to me – for the last two years. According to Pansy, her pregnancy wasn't planned, but not unwelcome, and she and Theodore are planning on settling down together in the countryside once she's won the inheritance case against Abernathy's idiot relations, who might have a point in wanting the money for themselves but are entirely wrong in believing that Pansy only married the Count for money reasons. Well, she did, but to top it all off she' managed to fall in love with her deceased husband during the time that they were married. And as if all that wasn't enough, I've been having an on and off affair with Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, based on a drunken proposal he made me – up until I fell in love with him and we decided to go steady. Our attempt at a serious relationship has been rocky and disastrous but by no means something I regret having ventured into.

"Oh for the love of Merlin!" I groan and, pushing Harry off me, I scramble off the couch and stalk across the room, halting in front of the crackling fire-place. "My life is a bloody fucking soap opera!" I mumble and stiffen when two familiar arms encircle my waist and pull me against the firm body, which hovered over mine only a few seconds ago.

"I agree it's a bit messy, but there's no need to lose your head over it," Harry whispers into my ear and, resting his chin on my shoulder, he holds me tighter when I tense, unwilling to let go of me, until I finally admit defeat and relax. Loosening his hold on me, Harry allows me to turn in his arms, and when I try to open my mouth to remark something, his lush lips close over mine and he bribes me with a deep, utterly sensational kiss. I slump against his body and, too exhausted to bother fighting for dominance, I allow Harry to guide the kiss. I vaguely acknowledge the fact that I'm being walked out of Harry's study and dragged up the stairs but the rest; including shedding all my clothes and sliding under the pre-heated covers – Merlin love the elf that's looking after Harry's well-being – simply is a blur.

"It's so easy for you to say, you're not involved," I mutter when Harry breaks the kiss and nips on my neck instead. He's naked, too, and his body's warmth is radiating against mine. The feeling is familiar and lush and even with all the problems that are threatening to overpower me, I can't help but relax and go with the flow. Damn you, Harry Potter, for loving me. And damn you Harry Potter for making me want to love you back! Damn you!

"I'm… about… as… much… involved… as… you… are… Draco…" Harry whispers, trailing kisses along my neck, jaw, cheeks and lips. He doesn't give me a moment to contemplate his words, he's so intent on distracting me, and I just can't resist his lips trying to kiss every single part of me. It seems that his lips are everywhere at once, my lips, my chest, my stomach… or maybe it's just the lingering sensations. Either way, it's too good to fight and I whole-heartedly surrender, though I'm not sure whether not even putting up a fight counts as surrendering… I arch my back when Harry's lips ghost over my erection and groan when he suckles on the sensitive head. My fingers automatically entangle themselves in the bed sheets, and I shiver when the familiar feel of wild magic is crawling up my body. I'm not entirely sure whether he's using _that_ spell again or whether he's just mumbled some sort of preparation spell that I failed to notice. Either way I'm too far gone to properly acknowledge what is going on. I don't care about the logistics of it all; I just know that it feels good and that I don't want Harry to stop.

The good thing with him his that I know he won't stop, no matter what. And it makes me feel at ease, it calms my nerves and locks up those swirling thoughts in my mind that have been driving me crazy ever since Harry and I returned from our impromptu loved-up, sun-kissed Caribbean holiday with hiccups – if I could I'd sue that cruise organizer!

"Fuck! Yes, Harry, please…" I groan – Harry's erection firmly pressing against my entrance sends all of the strange thoughts in my mind scrambling for their dark corners and untangling my fingers from the bed sheets, I wrap my arms around Harry's neck and my legs around his waist. He slips into me with experienced ease and I vaguely recall that the wild magic I felt earlier was, quite possibly, a combined Lubrication and Stretching Spell. Moaning at the sensations, I pull Harry tighter and his lips claim mine in a wild kiss as he shoves his cock deep into me. I shudder when he brushes my prostate, and clawing at his back, I hold him as tight and close as I possibly can. He seemingly understands my need to feel him as close as possible and, setting a languid pace, he slowly but steadily builds up the passion, bringing both of us closer and closer to the edge. Sometime amidst it all his hand wraps itself around my cock and he strokes me in time with his thrusts, driving further and further into me.

He's reduced me into a moaning pile of mush and I couldn't care any less about it. I can feel him everywhere and it's just what I need right now. I don't want this to end and I can sense that Harry knows. He doesn't rush to speed up even though I can hear him pant. He's close, he's straining to hold on, to keep himself in check. I know he do his best to draw this one out for as long as he possibly can and if I could I'd tell him that I love him. But Harry's lips are on mine, his tongue is entangled with mine and I've no intention of breaking this kiss for even just a second. Not even the flames in my lungs can persuade me. I'm barely getting enough air to breathe, but I don't care. I don't care about anything but the fact that Harry's cock is sheathed deep inside me and his lips are on mine and his hand is pumping my cock, teasing the tip and driving me wild with the thousands of different sensations that are invading my mind all at the same time. It's almost an overdose of sensations, but I really don't care!

Making love with Harry is intense, even more so than a hurried fuck is. He knows how to love; he knows how to make sure we both have a good time, an extremely good time. I could never complain and he knows that. Secretly I believe it drives him on…

Despite Harry's best efforts to stall, we are both so very close that we are unable to hold back another second. I slip over the edge first, and spiraling downwards at the speed of light, I allow the waves of my orgasm to wash over me, to press me into the mattress. I claw my nails into Harry's back, drawing blood, and my legs hold him close in a vice-grip. My back arches up and, tearing my mouth away from Harry's, I expose my neck and throw my head back. Harry's name slips over my lips over and over again, like a chant, and my arse clenches around his pulsing hard cock, drawing him deeper and deeper into me. It's more than he can take, and spurting his come deep inside of me, he collapses on top of me, buries his head in the crook of my neck and mumbles something quite incoherent. Every now and then I can distinguish my name, but that's about it…

Sleep is claiming us fast, and we're both too exhausted to fight it. Harry doesn't even bother shifting to the other side of the bed and I don't care. I'm in heaven, this feeling of being well-shagged, of being loved, is more than enough for me. All the nagging thoughts I have about Julian, Pansy, what she told me and what's going to happen now can't seem to invade my mind. I know that they're there, trying to tear down the defenses, but I feel too good to let them succeed, and with a stupid smile locked onto my lips, I drift off to sleep, with Harry still inside me and as close as he could possibly be…

TBC


	46. Chapter 46

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 46:**

**Harry's POV, six months later**

I bounce on the balls of my feet, too full of nervous energy to stand still. So much has happened in the last few months, and all of it has further complicated my already too-complicated life. I finger the object in my pocket through the thin wool of my trousers, wondering if I'm completely insane. Surely most rational men would run the other way instead of willfully choosing to run _toward_ the craziness?

Of course, I could be reading things completely incorrectly. It wouldn't be the first time I'd botched things badly. I never seem to be able to get a good read on what Draco's feeling. I'm fairly certain that's one of the reasons he keeps me around; if I was able to see through all of his bullshit he'd never have the upper hand, and Draco Malfoy is not a man who cedes control easily.

I bite my lip, my sharp teeth worrying over the sensitive skin until I wince at the rawness. What would Draco say to me at a time like this? "Get a hold of yourself, Potter," I'd imagine. "Man up or stop wasting my time," would probably be closer to the truth.

I sigh, giving in to the overpowering urge to move as I start pacing the room. Narcissa gave me free reign over the solarium, and Pansy helped me decorate it. Pansy. I run my hand nervously over my hair, probably mussing it worse through my efforts to tame it. This is all her fault, really. Her and her disgustingly happy life. She and Theo had a daughter several months ago, a perfect little girl with porcelain skin, dark hair and Theo's warm brown eyes. She had us all wrapped around her finger within about ten minutes of her birth, I think. Even Draco, who'd still been upset about the entire affair, instantly warmed to her.

The questions about Abernathy's will had been resolved shortly thereafter, with the distant heirs agreeing to the settlement Pansy offered them. She'd given up the lands and the rights to Abernathy's name, keeping only the manor they'd lived in when they were married and a hefty chunk of the monetary inheritance. It turned out the old man had _known_ Julian wasn't his child all along, but had been so in love with Pansy – and with Julian – that it hadn't mattered to him. The relatives had found a codicil to his will that Pansy had never known existed, one that explained the situation but upheld the original will, naming Julian as his heir. Since they'd really only wanted the right to the family name and title – plus the lands and manors that had been in their family for centuries – and not the money, Pansy had eagerly cut the deal.

Theo had proposed about an hour after the estate had been settled, right there in the Ministry Atrium. Of course, the perfect moment was ruined about two minutes later, when Theo offered to adopt Julian to make them a true family. I'd barely had time to usher the bewildered Jules out of the room before Draco launched himself at his friend, causing such a tussle that guards from three different floors were called down to referee. Apparently he'd known Draco was Julian's father for months, but he'd assumed the man wanted nothing to do with his son, since he'd never claimed him before. It had taken weeks for Draco to calm down enough to speak to him again, and I'd spent most of Theo and Pansy's wedding worried Draco would object out of spite.

Now that he's been able to publicly claim Julian as a Malfoy, though, things have gotten better. Julian was largely being sheltered from the media storm the announcement had predictably started, since both Pansy and Draco thought he was too young to understand. He's started spending more time with Draco, which was thankfully possible since the book tour has finally ended. I spend most of my free time at the Manor, hanging out with Draco and Jules. Hell, I probably sleep there more often than I do at home, which is another reason I've come to the decision I have.

I look up when I hear footsteps in the corridor, gathering my courage. I nearly sigh in frustration when the footsteps don't even slow as they pass the entrance to the solarium. It was probably just Narcissa puttering around, deciding which room to redecorate next. She's slowly been making her way through the Manor, removing things that don't fit Draco's taste. It's clear she's readying the Manor for him to take over soon, but he refuses to believe that. I know she's been toying with the idea of moving somewhere warmer, like one of the Malfoy properties in Italy or Spain. That's yet another reason for what I'm about to do.

My heart lurches when the door opens. Draco's standing there, wreathed in light from the torches in the corridor, and my mouth goes absolutely dry. Suddenly everything I'd planned to say flees my mind, and I'm left tongue-tied and short of breath. What had previously been a good idea backed by iron-clad reasoning now seems like an infinitely stupid idea, and I flounder for something to say to bridge the ever-deepening silence.

"Hi."

Oh, brilliant. I clench my teeth, forcing myself to smile as I make a conscious effort not to touch my pocket. No matter what Pansy says, it was a bad idea. Thank Merlin I realized it before I said anything I couldn't take back. I take a wild look around the solarium, which is decked out in candlelight, casting soft shadows against the floor and flickering reflections on the floor-to-ceiling windows that surround the room. I'm eternally grateful that I'd nixed Pansy's idea to play romantic music in the background.

Draco raises and eyebrow at me, and I know he's seen through my false calm. I'm overtaken with the urge to pat my pocket again, but I resist; nothing would give away my true intentions faster than that, I'm sure of it. Instead, I decide to carry out the first part of my plan – seduction – and hope that it's enough to justify the sexy scene Pansy and I spent hours setting up. She'll kill me in the morning, but it's better than Draco killing me _now._

I shrug sheepishly at him, busying my hands by pouring us both flutes of champagne. My stomach flips at the heat I see in his grey eyes, and I waver again. Maybe it's _not_ such a bad plan? But then he's stepping closer, taking the delicate crystal stemware out of my hands and setting it aside. Suddenly his hands seem to be everywhere, caressing my face, sliding down my body, cupping my arse. I groan into his mouth as he kisses me, my heart hammering. How is it possible that I still respond like this to him every single time? I sigh when his hands leave my body long enough to start ripping at the buttons on my shirt, his lips still crushed against mine in a kiss so hard I'm sure I taste blood.

I bury my hands in his hair, pouring all my frustration into the kiss. He staggers a bit at my assault but responds eagerly, his tongue stroking against mine as his hands finish with my shirt and cast it aside. I'm too far gone to think coherently as he moves on to my trousers, making short work of the fastenings and urging them down over my hips. I'm just about to help him by toeing off my shoes when there's a soft metallic clink against the marble floor. The sound echoes through the room and he stills immediately, pulling back to look down at the floor. My eyes widen in horror as I realize what has happened, and suddenly I'm cursing myself for not giving in to that stupid mood music Pansy had suggested – I would have looked like an idiot, but decidedly less so than I do now. Because Draco Malfoy is staring at the floor in absolute shock, his grey eyes wide as he watches the thick gold wedding band that had been safely stowed in my pocket spin across the floor.

TBC


	47. Chapter 47

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 47:**

**Draco's POV, 10 minutes of deathly silence later**

"Are you going to say something or not?" I hear Harry ask tentatively, and toying with the ring, which I picked up off the ground some ten minutes ago, I raise my head slightly and look at him. He's sitting the wicker chair near the window, elbows digging into his thighs and fingers tapping against his flushed cheeks in both impatience and nervousness. I can't help but smile at the sight of him – even given the current situation, which I'm not quite sure what to make off, he looks perfect. His hair is mused and there's a worry in his eyes that makes me want to rush over – like a love-sick fool – and reassure him that everything is fine and that there's no need for him to fuss or look like his world's about to come to an unexpected end.

But there is. Because I'm holding a golden wedding band that isn't mine. And by the looks of it, it isn't Harry's either. It is brand new; it has never been worn before. Which, as such, is no reason for me to freak out, however the fact that said ring was in Harry's pocket and he has been eagerly waiting for my arrival in the solarium is very much a reason for me to worry. I didn't expect this, I didn't expect to walk into a room, find Harry waiting for me in the center of a decorated room, with champagne and other treats, looking like he has a big secret to share. Sure I realized something was going on the moment Harry insisted that I keep as far away from the solarium as possible until five pm this afternoon, but I never expected to discover a wedding band in the pocket of his trousers. I did have a suspicion about his strange behavior all of last night, and this morning and I kind of expected a proposal of some sort, just not a marriage proposal. Because seriously, you can tell me whatever, but it's crystal clear to me that Harry intended to propose to me. He clearly intended to go the whole way… romantic evening for two, drinks, privacy, seduction, and going down on bended knee, with a beautiful ring in his pocket, asking me to become his husband.

Oh dear! Harry, what have you done? Why did you do this to me?

"Please…" Harry begs, looking more distraught than ever.

Letting out a soft sigh, I shake my head and, placing the ring in my left hand, I hold my right hand out towards Harry, beckoning him to get up from the wicker chair and eliminate the ten feet between us. He hesitates and frowns – it's so clear he can't judge what I want from him – but gets up and walks over to me anyway. He got dressed in record speed earlier – I've never seen him put his clothes on so quickly! It was actually quite amusing… in all the time Harry and I have been together, I've seen Harry get out of his clothes faster than anyone can say Expelliarmus! but I've never seen him get dressed equally as quickly.

The moment that Harry is close enough, I reach for his hand and our fingers entwine without our conscious input. Turning towards the door, I tug at Harry's hand, beckoning him to follow me. He does, and even though I can't see his face right now, I know that he's even more confused than just two minutes ago. But I can't tell him, I can only show him. I know he's dying for me to say something, anything at all really, to assure him, but he's going to have to wait until we get upstairs and into Julian's playroom. Then all his questions will be answered.

It takes us about five minutes to make our way upstairs, and with my hand on the doorknob to Julian's room, I turn to look at Harry, who frowns yet again, and sighs. He opens his mouth to say something but when I shake my head, he obediently shuts his mouth and nods, silently agreeing not to question me but to simply wait and see…

Opening the door to Julian's room, I walk inside and chuckle. Julian is sitting in the middle of a massive pile of collapsed multi-colored Muggle wooden building blocks Harry presented him with earlier this month. He's obsessed with the bricks and won't play with anything else, apart from his toy broom, of course. He started to rebuild the Manor yesterday morning – either his efforts were fruitless and the building collapsed or he simply didn't like the first layout he came up with and brought the whole construction down himself, which seems likely. Julian is thorough – he likes to do things properly, even though he's only a little boy. '_With the mind of the 13-year-old_', mother always says, much to both mine and Harry's amusement.

Oh, my Jules is going to love Hogwarts. I'm not yet sure what his favorite subjects will, be but if Harry keeps up teaching Jules how to fly, he's going to make it into the Quidditch team before too long… He might even be the second youngest Hogwarts first year to make it into his house team in a century. Harry's definitely got competition coming his way. Not that I mind, though. My Jules is going to beat Harry in a rough game of Quidditch for me once he's old enough – he'll do the Malfoy name justice and he will show Harry Potter just where his place is.

Withdrawing my hand from Harry's loose grasp, I leave Harry standing in the door and, walking over to Julian and the pile of building blocks, I crouch down and pull Jules towards me and sit him on my knee. He doesn't object to my sudden intrusion whatsoever and eagerly explains to me about his plan to rebuild the Manor's Gardens first, before piecing together the Manor. I can't help but laugh. If he keeps expanding his construction plans, I'm going to have to give him a bigger playroom, preferably the size of the whole estate so he can really go wild.

A quick finger across Julian's lips silences my little boy, and he stares at me with his bright grey-blue eyes, melting my heart. Leaning closer, I whisper something into Julian's ear and, glancing past me and at Harry, who is still standing in the doorframe, he nods to me and scrambles off my knee. Darting across the room, he rushes through the gap of the French doors that connect his playroom with his sleep chambers, and I can see him dive under his canopy bed – mother painted the decorative satin on top of the bed herself and Jules simply loves the night sky she painted him. I bewitched the stars to move around and when it's dark in the room the stars softly shine down on Jules, keeping him company in his oversized bed. He says they watch over him and it's true. I put a special spell on the biggest star on the painted night sky, which will alert me if Jules needs me.

My train of thought is interrupted when Julian returns with a worn, dark-green sock, which he hands me with a bright smile. Wrapping one arm around Julian's waist, I draw him close and kiss his cheek, mouthing a '_thank you_' into his ear. He shrugs, tells me that it's no problem and then proceeds to inform me that he does love me but that I really need to make some room so that he can go over his construction plans. I roll my eyes but nod, and with one last kiss onto the top of Julian's head, I get up and move towards Harry, who clearly is trying his best to figure out what exactly is going on. Not that he's making a very good job of it…

Reaching for Harry's hand, I pull him out of Julian's room, and closing the door behind me, I lead Harry into my own bedchambers at the end of the corridor, which also become Harry's bedchambers a good while ago. Half his clothes are flying around in his dressing room and one half of my bathroom is occupied by Harry's toiletries. The Malfoy house-elves take care of his work robes and various other personal belongings fly around the whole room. It's messy, but I don't mind. It actually looks rather homely, and I know that the house-elves keep the mess at bay, otherwise Harry's dirty laundry would pile up in a corner instead of ending up washed, dry-cleaned and neatly folded inside the cupboard that I allocated Harry when more and more of his things began to fly around my bedroom and his jeans frequently wound up in my own dressing cupboard.

I kick the door closed behind me and a mumbled Locking Charm instantly insures us both privacy. Walking Harry over to the bed, I sit down on the edge and pat the free space in front of me, beckoning Harry to sit.

"Would you care to explain to me what the hell is going on?" he asks, and pulling his hand away from mine, he crosses his arms over his chest and glares angrily. There we go… Harry's confusion and worry converted itself into annoyance… I knew this would happen.

"I would." I smile, and placing Harry's golden wedding band on top of the bed, I reach into the worn sock and pull out a small, black jewelry box. Opening it, I put it down onto the bed, right next to Harry's wedding band, showing Harry the beautiful platinum engagement ring, adorned by a small emerald and a small ruby, inside.

Harry gasps with surprise and I can't help but chuckle.

"I was going to give you this for Christmas and ask you whether you would…" I leave the sentence unfinished, and locking eyes with Harry, I wait for his reaction.

TBC


	48. Chapter 48

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 48:**

**Harry's POV, the next morning**

"Someone looks well-shagged," Pansy says derisively, snorting with laughter when her sudden appearance in the Floo makes me jump.

"Pansy!" I hiss, looking around quickly. Anyone could have been in here with me – I'm in Narcissa's favorite sitting room, and it's only luck that has prevented her from overhearing. One of the house-elves burnt a pan of scones a few minutes ago, and Narcissa's gone to help clear out the smell.

Pansy laughs and steps through, dusting the ash off her clothes with a look of distaste. The Floos here are usually cleaner, but the elves have been busy with outdoor tasks lately.

"So he said yes, I take it?"

I hold her gaze for a long moment, until I see uncertainty flicker through her eyes. She deserves the suspense, in my opinion. After all, Draco told me last night that Pansy's knew about his plan to propose over Christmas. She and Julian helped him pick out the ring.

"He didn't," I say, my voice flat and my expression fixed.

Pansy frowns, a look of complete concern on her face as she makes her way toward the sofa I'm sitting on. She shifts a stack of newspapers aside so she can sit next to me, her eyes searching my face for any sign about what happened.

"Oh, Harry," she says softly, reaching out to find my hand under the paper I'm holding. The newsprint crackles as she finds it, her fingers clamping tightly around my wrist to pull it out into the open.

"Wanker," she scoffs, holding my hand aloft to admire the engagement ring Draco gave me last night. She rolls her eyes at me, pointing to me and then herself in exaggerated movements. "Gryffindor. _Slytherin_. Did you really think I believe Draco turned you down for a second?"

Draco laughs from the doorway, and we both turn to see him leaning indolently against the doorframe, a ring almost identical to mine on his finger. He'd planned ahead, correctly figuring that I wouldn't have a clue that men could wear engagement rings. Of course, Draco had been more than happy to disabuse me of the notion that only women wore such things, right before he launched into a lecture on why the gold wedding bands I'd picked out wouldn't work with the platinum engagement rings.

"So when's the big day?" she asks, lounging back against the sofa as Draco saunters in and folds himself into a chair nearby. I don't know if it's a Slytherin thing, a pure-blood thing or an aristocratic thing, but I'll never understand how they manage convey such grace and languid boredom when they move. Not that I'd want to emulate it, but it's impressive.

Draco snorts, shrugging elegantly. That's something I'd _love_ to be able to do, but it always comes off as affected when I do it. At least, that's what Ron says.

"Arrangements must be made," Narcissa sniffs as she drifts into the room, a bouquet of freshly cut flowers in her hands. She fusses with them for a bit, settling them on a sideboard after a bit of contemplation. "_Proper_ weddings take time."

Pansy laughs, ignoring Narcissa's not-so-subtle slam on her own recent nuptials. She'd gone for the whole pure-blood formal to-do when she'd married Abernathy, apparently, and had chosen to take a much different route for her wedding to Theo. Personally, I'd thought her wedding was lovely, but apparently Narcissa didn't agree. She'd taken the news of our engagement quite stoically over breakfast, the enthusiastic way she'd bolted from the room the moment the meal was finished to gather her Rolodex full of caterers and florists the only give-away to how excited she was.

"Have you told Jules?" she asks, sharing a pained look with me when Narcissa's back is turned. I barely manage to hide my snicker.

"Thought we'd do it together," Draco says absently, having grabbed a newspaper from the top of my stack. His latest obsession is Muggle stocks, and he's been following the progress of the shares he purchased a few months ago with rapt interest lately.

"It's not as though he didn't know," Pansy presses, earning herself a glare from Draco as he turns the pages.

"How _did_ you get him to keep the secret?" I ask, suddenly remembering that the ring had been hidden in Julian's room.

"He _promised_ him a pet," Pansy says, wrinkling her nose. "Which will be kept _here_. I don't want some disgusting, shedding _thing_ in my house."

Draco rolls his eyes, pointedly raising the newspaper again.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'd get him. Something disgusting that sheds."

Pansy sticks her tongue out at him, frustrated when he doesn't even see because his nose is still buried in the paper. Of course, I know he really _is_ watching her, since I felt the tingle of magic when he cast _Appareo_ so he could see through the newsprint. He really enjoys winding her up, for reasons I don't understand. I shift on the sofa, my usual reaction to Draco's magic making my position uncomfortable. I discreetly adjust my trousers, knowing Draco can see my movements because of the charm. He sucks in a quiet breath when I let my palm graze over the growing bulge, and I'm grateful I've positioned myself so Pansy and Narcissa can't easily see what I'm doing.

Pansy starts in on a tirade against him, but I doubt he's listening – I know _I'm _not. My attention is focused on casting a wandless shield charm that will cover what I'm about to do. Out of the corner of my eye I see Narcissa turn her back to us as she begins re-arranging the flowers she brought in earlier, and I wonder if she's sensitive to magic, too. I wouldn't put it past her to know exactly what's going on, but that doesn't stop me.

I rub my palm against my crotch, confident the spell is masking my movements. It works rather like a visual version of _Muffliato_, and it's come in quite handy a number of times, especially on boring stake-outs and long department meetings at the Ministry. Not that I've ever done anything like _this_ during those times.

I grin when I see Draco cross his legs. He can't manage a higher-level spell like _Tractus Tego_ wandlessly, so he'll have to sit there with no relief.

"– responsibility involved in having a pet –"

Pansy's still going full steam. It's almost a shame he's not registering any of her points, because she's making some good ones. Julian's too young for a pet, in my opinion. Of course, the house-elves will probably bear the brunt of the new-pet responsibilities, but still.

I don't trust my spell enough to actually open my trousers, so I'm confined to merely rubbing myself through the fabric. It seems to be working, though, because I can hear Draco's breathing accelerate as I caress the head of my cock with my thumb, the friction enough to make me squirm a bit. He shifts, too, uncrossing his legs and then immediately crossing them again. I suppress the urge to laugh, since the spell doesn't cover anything other than my torso and crotch. I don't want to draw Pansy's attention.

I clench my teeth against a moan on a particularly hard stroke, coinciding with the moment Draco lowers the paper, leaving it in his lap as he glares at both me and Pansy and orders everyone from the room. Narcissa merely laughs, her long fingers making one final adjustment to the arrangement before she holds a hand out for Pansy, asking her to join her in the solarium for tea. Pansy's spitting mad about the dismissal, but she knows when to stop pushing. Draco's flushed face and swirling grey eyes could very easily be taken for anger, and she has enough Slytherin sense of self-preservation to obey his curt words and leave.

The moment the door closes behind them he jumps up, grabbing his wand from the table and locking and silencing the room. The newspaper falls to the floor, and I can see his erection straining against his trousers. He doesn't waste any time, pouncing on me moments after I feel the wards settle in place.

"Fucking tease," he mutters darkly, pushing my head back to nip at my neck. His fingers are busy unfastening my trousers, and I lift up my hips, helping him push them down my thighs, joined by his own in short order. We're both too aroused from my teasing to do much, and I nearly bite through my lip when his cool hand wraps around both of our cocks, tugging us roughly toward release.

"Faster," I grunt, opening my legs a bit so he can get a better position on the sofa. The strokes speed up, and I'm coming an embarrassingly short amount of time later, though he doesn't seem to mind, seeing as how I can feel his hot cock pulse against mine almost immediately after my orgasm finishes.

"Engaged sex is brilliant," he pants, rolling to the side.

We're squished on the sofa, sweaty and disheveled, but he's right. Engaged sex _is_ brilliant.

"Though I still say you're a fucking tease," he adds, glaring at me weakly before dropping his head back against the cushions.

TBC


	49. Chapter 49

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 49:**

**Draco's POV, three weeks later**

"Do you have to run like that?" I pant and turn my head to glare at Harry, who's holding his head high and stalking down the corridor towards his office at a brisk pace. It took me all morning to get hold of Harry – I had given up when I finally bumped into him in the Atrium of the Ministry on my way out – but he was rushing from one meeting to another, hence my being unsuccessful in tracking him down.

"Yes, I do," Harry snaps, and speeding up at little more, he draws his wand and fires a spell at his office door, banging it open from afar. He bursts through the open door and I just about manage to squeeze into the office behind him before the door thunders close again. Rushing behind his desk, Harry tosses his Auror robes across the room onto the small couch to the left of his room and loosening his tie, he slumps into his fancy chair, and sighs. "I swear I'm going to kill the fucking bastard," he snarls, and for the first time he actually properly looks at me. His eyes warm slightly and smiling, I walk around his desk and standing behind his chair. Resting my hands on his tense shoulders, I squeeze gently and Harry sighs with relief. I chuckle.

"What happened?" I ask casually.

"Botty the wanker's been trying to tell me how to do my job all morning. I swear if it wasn't for me practically running into you, I'd have drawn my wand and fucking hexed him to the ceiling of the Atrium," Harry complains, and I squeeze his shoulders harder, gently massaging the tense muscles underneath.

"Just ignore him."

"Easier said than done. Though today he finally managed to piss Shacklebolt off so if he keeps his behavior up, 'Shacklebolt's going to personally fire him or demote him to help out the house-elves in the canteen."

"I thought Kingsley was on holiday with his wife?"

"Emergency Floo-call. He owed me a favor and I needed him to be present to push the new bill through."

"It's done then?"

"Yes, signed, dated and dusted. Effective from the 1st of next month." Harry tilts his head upward and smiles at me. "One done, a million to go," he chuckles, and I grin.

"Like our wedding. Mother is driving me up the wall. I fled into the Leaky this morning to be able to work on that chapter I showed you last night."

"She means well, Draco." Harry grins, and I glare.

"Well she's making me want to drag you to the next registry office to sign the papers and be done with it, that's all she's doing."

"Oi! We'd never get to spend our wedding night together if we were to go down that road." Harry laughs, and reaching out, he wraps his left hand around my left wrist and pulls me around his chair and onto his lap. I willingly oblige and placing one arm around Harry's shoulders, I lean in for a kiss.

"Mother wants to talk to you about the floral arrangements," I whisper when I withdraw minutes later – just when Harry was about to get his hopes up.

"I think I'll pass. I'll leave all decision making up to you." Harry grins, and I glare. If he thinks that I'm going to spend the next few weeks and months listening to my mother going on about the proper planning of a pure-blood wedding and dragging me from caterer to caterer and tailor to tailor then he's wrong. Harry's going to pull his weight, otherwise I'm going to buy him a collar and leash and drag him everywhere I go – we'll see just how much he'll enjoy that.

"Not a fucking chance, Potter. You're going to do your bit and keep Mother off my back so I can get this book written."

"I've a million things to do in the office," Harry pouts, and I focus a very icy glare on my new fiancé, one that makes him shudder and not in a good way.

"Tough luck." I shrug and with one pointed look I move off Harry's lap and, leaning back against his desk, I cross my legs at the ankle and my arms over my chest.

"Can I bribe you?" Harry looks hopeful, and I laugh and shake my head.

"No."

"Not even if I promise to be your sex slave for a month?"

"No." I shake my head, laughing even more. The offer is arousing, but I can get Harry to do the deed without having to pay anything for it… "Besides, we should be thinking about making our engagement official," I say, and with a murmured spell I dismiss the glamour on my left hand, exposing my engagement ring. The spell also reveals Harry's ring and I can't help but smile. I caught him staring at it this morning. He was standing in the bathroom, in front of the sink, lost in thoughts and he was staring at the ring on the third finger of his left hand with the goofiest grin I've ever seen him wear. Thank Merlin he didn't see me… the sight was certainly one to be treasured.

"I can't say I'm looking forward to the media furor," Harry sighs and I nod.

"There's no way around it."

"I know. Do you want to issue a formal statement?"

"That's probably the best option." I shrug. "But that's not why I came here."

"No?"

"No…"

"What do I owe the honor of your visit to then?"

"I promised Julian to take him to Diagon Alley to have a look around for a pet." I grin, and Harry shakes his head.

"Pansy won't be happy."

"I couldn't care any less. He's my son too."

"He will be once you tell him that you're his father." Harry gives me a pointed look and I roll my eyes.

"I will tell him, thank you very much. Now, are you coming along to pick Julian up? He asked me to bring you…"

"I've meetings all afternoon…"

"So?"

"I'm busy."

"So?" I raise my eyebrows to underline the point I'm making and Harry sighs for the umpteenth time.

"Fine, I'll cancel and join you two."

"I knew you wouldn't kick up a fuss." I smile and, uncrossing my legs, I push myself away from Harry's desk and leaning forward I capture my fiancé's lips in a searing kiss, surprising him. "We'll be late, but I don't care," I mumble against Harry's lips, and drawing me closer, he deepens the kiss, showing me that he too doesn't care, and I shudder and straighten up as Harry casts a wandless Locking Charm on the door to his office…

TBC


	50. Chapter 50

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note #1:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.  
**Author's Note #2 by **_**Selly87**_**: **Thank you so much for the continuous reviews everyone. It is an absolute pleasure to see that so many people are enjoying this story and care enough to review. I can tell you, it makes both Bru and me very happy. I've been replying to all the reviewers, personally thanking them and adding cheeky notes here and there but if I have forgotten to get back to you for some reason please do let me know and I will fix the mistake ASAP. If you have any questions at all, please do not hesitate to ask them and I will do my best to respond. Once again, thank you so much for all your lovely reviews - they bring a smile to my face! Loads of love, Selly xxx

**Chapter 50:**

**Harry's POV, five months later, the day before**

Draco jumps when I burst into the room, holding a finger to Draco's lips to keep him quiet as I wrap my arms around him and hustle him across the room. He nips at my finger, and I can barely make out the question and challenge in his grey eyes in the gloom of the closet I've moved us to. Before he can say anything, though, the door to his study opens again.

"Harry? Draco?" Narcissa calls out, stepping into the now-empty room.

We hear her heels click as she walks back out into the corridor, and I grin at Draco, replacing the finger I've held against Draco's mouth with my lips. I'm just about to push the door to the closet open so we can step out when we hear voices outside.

"He'll have to come back in here eventually," Narcissa says. It sounds like she's standing right in front of the closet door.

"Should we just check back later, then?" Pansy asks, and Draco nods violently. I stifle a laugh by pressing my face against his chest.

"No, we can finish up our plans while we wait here," Narcissa answers, and I slump in defeat. We hear her dress slide against the leather sofa Draco keeps next to the window, apparently settling in for a nice, long wait.

"So many last-minute details," Pansy murmurs, and I can make out the rustle of parchment as she apparently spreads out whatever they're looking at on the coffee table.

I groan softly, and Draco elbows me in the ribs. He mouths the word "Apparate" to me, but I shake my head. I doubt it would work in such a small space – even if the telltale crack wouldn't give us away, which it would. He rolls his eyes, but before I can protest I see a dangerous look come over his face. Moments later his hands are ghosting down over the front of my trousers, palming against the soft bulge of my cock.

"Draco!" I mouth, fully aware that the chastisement is practically meaningless since I can't make a sound.

He smirks at me, winking as he outlines my growing erection with his thumb. It's hard not to groan as he coaxes me to full hardness with a few deft strokes, and harder still when he unfastens my trousers and thrusts his hand inside. The zipper had seemed unnaturally loud in the confined space, but Narcissa and Pansy are still chatting away outside, so apparently it passed without notice.

The sound of my heavy breathing probably won't, though, and I bite my lip as I force myself to regulate my breathing, desperately trying to be quiet. Draco is no help at all; he's freed my erection from my pants by now, and the fabric is bunched around my knees. I can't help but grunt as his fingers twist over the head of my cock, and both of us still instantly, tensed for discovery. The seating chart they're poring over is apparently engrossing enough that they missed the sound, though, and neither Pansy nor Narcissa says anything about the strangled sound.

"I hate you," I mouth at him, but he just smirks and shrugs, giving my cock a particularly violent tug in response. I shiver, leaning into his body as he jerks me off. I can taste blood where my teeth have pierced my lip, but it doesn't stop me from clenching my teeth even tighter. I'm close, so close, and I don't know how I'll get through this orgasm quietly.

Draco's chest is rising and falling quickly, and I'm gratified that at least he's not totally unaffected by the torture. I grind against him, my hip bone grazing across the prominent erection that's straining against the wool. He hisses softly, speeding up his strokes in retaliation. Soon I'm so focused on not screaming or groaning out loud that I can't tease him. My hands fist in his shirt, my head buried against the curve of his neck as my body tenses and shudders, my cock spasming heavily in his hand as my come spurts against his trousers, adding to the already prevalent scent of sex that clouds the small space. My teeth are clenched so tightly it hurts, but part of me is triumphant; I've managed to keep absolutely quiet somehow.

"Bastard," I mouth at Draco when I'm sure my breathing is even again, finally letting go of his shirt and lifting my head from his shoulder. My trousers are still pooled around my feet, and my pants are somewhere around my knees. If Narcissa or Pansy was to open to the door for any reason, they'd have no trouble figuring out what we'd been up to. Mortification sweeps over me as I realize I've just had one off with my future mother-in-law on the other side of a very thin door.

"Idiot," Draco mouths back, rolling his eyes again. He grabs his wand, casting a Silencing Charm before Apparating out of the closet.

I stare in shock at the empty space he was in just seconds ago, my face flooding with color as my mortification increases. I'd completely forgotten that we could Silence the closet. I close my eyes, hurriedly fumbling to right my clothing before renewing the charm and Apparating out myself.

***

Draco isn't in our bedroom, which is the first place I look. Last I saw him, he had a raging erection, so I figured he'd head back here to take care of it before going to talk to his mother and Pansy. But a thorough search of the rooms comes up empty, and I swallow my growing annoyance as I stalk down the corridor toward his study. My anger grows as I feel a blush creeping back into my cheeks as I near the open door – I can't believe I'm about to go see Narcissa after what just happened.

"Harry! There you are," Pansy trills, and I slink into the room, sighing as she pulls me down on the sofa next to her. I'd hoped to just peek inside to see if Draco was there, but she'd spotted me. And to add insult to injury, Draco _wasn't_ there. Where the hell could he be?

"Do you think the Weasleys would mind sitting with the Bulstrodes?" Narcissa asks without preamble, shoving the parchment they've been looking at over my way. It's covered in tiny figures, each of them labeled with the name of one of the 650 wedding guests that will descend on the Manor tomorrow. She's managed to animate it somehow, and the tiny Molly is sitting with her back to the tiny (but still somehow imposing) figure of Millicent Bulstrode and two people I assume are her parents.

"I thought the Weasleys were sitting at one of the family tables up front?" I ask, peering at the parchment.

Narcissa sighs, but I see Pansy grin out of the corner of my eye.

"Of course, dear. I'll just move a few more things around," Narcissa says, muttering softly to herself as she sweeps her wand across the parchment, relocating tiny figures.

I watch her work for a moment, somehow fascinated by the intricate process. It's as though she thinks another war will break out if we don't get this right. As I cock my head and watch as she moves Theo Nott and his wife to a table with Seamus Finnigan and Justin Finch-Fletchley, I wonder if it maybe she's right. I shake my head, laying my hand lightly over hers and guiding her wand to a different table, thereby ensuring world peace for another day by seating the Notts with the Bulstrodes, freeing up space at the other table for the Abbotts.

"Did you need anything else?" I ask, standing quickly in the hopes that she won't.

She's too busy to notice my rudeness, for once. She shakes her head, still concentrating on the seating chart. I notice for the first time that even the portraits have labels, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes as I realize she's bringing down what looks like the majority of the Malfoy Family Gallery to observe the festivities. I'm suddenly ridiculously glad that portraits can only be animated _after_ the subject dies; otherwise I'm sure Lucius would be attending our little fete, and I'm rather sure his commentary would not be of the congratulatory sort.

"Oh, Harry?" Narcissa calls just before I've reached the freedom of the open doorway.

"Yes?" I ask, plastering a smile on my face instead of the grimace that's threatening.

"Do be a dear and remind Draco that it's impossible to hide from someone who is tied into the wards here at the Manor. You'll find him in the library."

I swallow thickly, nodding as I turn to head out. My blush is returning, and the familiar weight of mortification rushes back and threatens to crush my chest.

"And Harry?"

I squeeze my eyes closed before turning, opening them to find Narcissa and Pansy facing me, bemused expressions on both of their faces.

"If you try to ruin the ceremony or reception by slipping away for a bit of afternoon delight like you did today, I _will_ find you, and I _will_ bring you back," she says calmly, her serene smile contradicted by the fire in her blue eyes.

"Of course, Narcissa," I say weakly, nearly sprinting from the room as soon as she nods in approval and dismisses me.

TBC


	51. Chapter 51

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 51:**

**Draco's POV, several hours later, early evening**

"You're not fucking serious!" Harry scowls at me as I gently close the door to Julian's bedroom. Pansy went home to check on her daughter, and she and Theo were only too content to leave Jules with me – lately he spends more time at the Manor than with Pansy, Theo and his half-sister – instead of bringing him home for the night and then dragging him out of bed early tomorrow morning to bring him back to the Manor so he can put on his delightful black suit and robes, which we had tailored especially for him.

Harry and I had our wedding suits made in Italy, and though neither of us knows what the other's suit looks like we both know what Julian's – who has been appointed our official ring bearer – suit looks like. He looks absolutely adorable, even though we've kept the suit quite simple. He'll be wearing it with a crisp white shirt, a green waistcoat and an ivy colored rose in his button-hole, complete with a fitted silver tie. Mother designed for him to ensure it would have the right length and all. She had a right hissy fit when the tailor in Italy presented her with the draft to match the suit and when he failed to miss her expectations with his second attempt, she went and did it herself.

"I'm dead serious, Harry," I sigh and turning on my heel, I walk down the corridor towards my study. There's still some time left and I'm not intending to let Harry out of my sight until then.

"Oh come on! I've gone along with everything your mother wished to include into the wedding. I didn't even bat an eyelid when she presented us with the final guest list… but this is too much! I'm not a virgin bride! I won't have it, I won't."

"Do you want to have this discussion with my mother?" I ask Harry as I open to the door to my study and walk through. Harry follows me, and much to my amusement there is a faint blush on his cheeks as he thinks back to the conversation he had with my mother earlier this afternoon. He told me all about it when he joined me in the library – or should I say he yelled so loudly that two house-elves instantly Apparated into the library to check up on our wellbeing.

"I think I can resist."

"Well then I think we have no choice but to go through with mother's final request."

"Only it won't be her final request. She doesn't even know about the song we picked for our first dance!" Harry throws his hands up into the air as he slumps onto the leather couch in my study and pulls his legs up. He gratefully accepts the glass of Firewhisky that I hand him and takes a rather large sip to calm his nerves.

"And you'd do well not to mention it to her. She will go ballistic if she finds out that we dropped the classic wedding waltz and opted for something a little more contemporary." I smile, and sitting down next to Harry, I place my palm on his thigh and squeeze gently. I can't quite believe that I'm about to get married to this man in less than twenty-four hours. It seems surreal after all that we've been through. It's been a rollercoaster of a ride and even though we've had enough moments where we simply sat back and thought about it all, it still doesn't make any sense to me. I couldn't stand Harry's presence back in school, was bitter that he turned down my friendship by refusing to shake my hand and made his life a living hell for seven years before finally, slowly coming to my senses and turning my life around.

My first book – now an international bestseller – brought us together. That fixed idea of wanting to write a true account of the Second Voldemort War – without any prejudice or from the point of view of a particular side – brought us together, not without major hiccups of course but it did give us the opportunity to bond. That and the fact that Harry got ridiculously pissed and promised me I could interview him for my book, providing I'd pay him with sexual favors. Years of tension unleashed when we first started fooling around and even though it sounds strange back then I already knew something was up between the two of us. But had anybody told me I would be sitting here with Harry now, on the eve of our wedding day, I would've laughed into their face and told them to go and see a Healer at St. Mungo's.

Yet here I am. Sitting right next to my husband-to-be in comfortable silence, sharing one last glass of Firewhisky before my mother will tear us apart for the night. Once she does there is no hope in hell that I will see Harry until 12.30pm tomorrow, when we are due to head down the aisle together. Mother was a little put out when I refused her offer to walk me down the aisle towards Harry, but she eventually relented and graciously allowed Harry and me to walk down the aisle together – hand in hand.

Oh Merlin, I hope, no I pray, this will last – I've been in the press more often than I care to remember, I don't want to the center of a scandal should Harry and…I don't even want to finish that thought. It sounds scary. I hope we'll make it past the first month without driving each other demented or apart for good. Married life is so much different to simply being boyfriends.

Even though I want tomorrow to happen, I'm scared shitless. Mother invited over six-hundred people. A representative from the _Daily Prophet_ has been invited to snap one picture of Harry and me after the ceremony to satisfy the vultures of the British wizarding press. My son will walk down the aisle, bearing the wedding bands Harry and I designed together, he will witness his father tie the knot with another man. He will see me kiss my husband after the exchange of our vows – which we, in true tradition, wrote ourselves… all of that is big stuff and it scares me. It's laughable really. I'm the author of an international bestseller, I'm the father of a little boy, I'm a Malfoy, and I'm dating Harry bloody Potter, Head of the British Auror department. Yet I'm scared shitless of saying two little words…I do…

"Hey! Come back here!"

"What?" I turn my head and look at Harry with a blank face. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes at me, quietly scolding me.

"You were a million miles away," he chides affectionately, and leaning against me, he rests his chin on my shoulder and kisses my neck, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. "Are you going to answer me if I ask you for the fifth time?" he teases and I nod, feeling just a little embarrassed about the fact that I was so far away that it took Harry five attempts to get through to me – not that I'll let him in on that.

"You're not getting cold feet, are you?"

I frown. "No. Why would I?"

"I don't know. You looked like you were thinking."

"I was."

"What about?"

"Us. Tomorrow. Our relationship. Julian. Everything. And nothing." I shrug, and Harry nods.

"But you're not going to bail on me tomorrow, are you? You're not going to leave me standing at the altar like an idiot, are you?" he pushes again, and I laugh.

"Not a fucking chance, Potter. We're reciting those damn vows. We're going to do this. I'm going to marry you whether you like it or not and you're going to marry me whether you like it or not."

"Oh I do like it." Harry grins.

"Well good."

"And you think there's absolutely no chance to convince the dragon to let us spend the night together?"

"Not a chance." I shake my head and grin at Harry's new nickname for my mother. He started calling her that about three months ago when she began to grate on his nerves with showing up at the Ministry every other day to get his opinion about this and that for the wedding. I think she knows that he affectionately calls her 'the dragon' but so far mother hasn't said anything, so I doubt she will say something now. Mind you, she's allowed us to get away with a lot of things both during our relationship and for the wedding preparations. She listened to all our suggestions and even though some changes didn't suit her, she relented in favor of keeping peace with both her son and her future son-in-law. We accommodated most of her wishes and stuck to most of the traditions she insisted on keeping alive – so it was only fair that she, in return, accepted the few requests we had.

"We could run?" Harry suggests, and I give him a pointed look. He sighs and nods. "Sorry, stupid idea. She'd have our heads…"

"Yes she would."

"And if we strike? Tie ourselves to the bed?"

"Worth a try, but I'd rather not experience just how powerful a witch my mother really is. And believe me she has a fair few tricks up her sleeve, she just doesn't show it."

"We could lock her into her bedroom?"

"She'd get one of the elves to get her out." I shake my head.

"So basically we're screwed… Is that what you're saying?"

"Pretty much…" I nod.

"This sucks."

"It does," I affirm and moving slightly, I wrap one arm around Harry's shoulder and pull him closer, relishing in the last few moments we have, before my mother is going to track us down to separate us for the night.

TBC


	52. Chapter 52

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 52:**

**Harry's POV, forty minutes later**

"This _sucks_," I repeat for the tenth time, falling back heavily on my (heartbreakingly empty) bed.

Narcissa's thought of everything. Draco and I figured we could fool her by parting ways amicably when she demanded it and then sneaking into each other's rooms ... except she expected that and warded us in. There's some ancient Malfoy pre-wedding night ward that even Draco, as Head of House, can't break. Unbelievable.

My eyes flick toward the Floo, and I heave myself up off the bed, tiptoeing furtively toward the fireplace. It's ridiculous; the woman has me on edge in my own home. The sudden thought has me grinning goofily; Malfoy Manor is my home. Narcissa announced her plan to move to one of the Malfoy estates in southern France last week; her wedding present to us. She'll be gone by the time we get back from our honeymoon, leaving us alone with only the house-elves, and occasionally Julian, in this sprawling manor. The deep flash of aggravation and annoyance I'd felt from being separated from Draco eases a bit as I realize we have our entire lives to be together. What's one night, right?

I bite my lip, looking at the empty fireplace. I'm in a guest suite somewhere in the east wing, and he's in our suite in the west wing – better known as the family wing. Surely the ward wouldn't allow Floo travel, would it? I give in to temptation, flicking my wrist to start a fire in the grate and then throwing a handful of Floo powder in. The flames turn a reassuring green, so I call out my destination and try to step in – and am immediately and painfully thrown back into the room.

I'm shaking my head, rubbing at the lump that's forming where my skull cracked against the four-poster bed, when suddenly I realize I can hear Draco laughing. My eyes blink open at the sound, and I gaze blearily at the flames. I can see into our suite, and Draco's on his knees in front of the fire, laughing at my plight.

"Idiot," he says, rolling his eyes. I'm disappointed I can't see him better; the green tinge the Floo gives everything does nothing to highlight the nuanced color of his eyes, especially when he's amused. I love the roiling grey they turn when he's laughing at something stupid I've done.

"Well, it half worked," I say moodily, glaring at him through the connection.

"Did you actually need something, or was this just another pathetic attempt to ravish me?"

I snort, pulling myself into a seated position in front of the fire, leaning against the bed.

"_Another _pathetic attempt?"

He grins, getting into a more comfortable position himself. He's close enough now that I can tell he doesn't have anything on underneath his robe, and my pulse jumps at the flash of creamy thigh I see as he gets situated. I'm not entirely sure it wasn't intentional.

"Of course," he says, still smirking at me. "Do you mean to say you _didn't_ try to get past the wards on your door before trying this half-witted attempt to Floo to our rooms? I'd have thought you'd clue in after the door wards threw you on your arse."

I glare at him a second longer before laughing, unable to deny that I'd spent the last ten minutes casting everything I could think of at the wards.

"Wait a minute," I say, a huge grin on my face. "That must mean _you_ tried to get past them, too, if you know what happens when you hit them."

Draco gave me a nonchalant shrug, ruined when he started to laugh as well.

"Miss you," I say, scooting closer to the flames. They aren't warm, but I can feel my skin flush as he scoots closer too, the tie of the robe coming completely undone. The silky fabric – I know exactly what it feels like, because I gave it to him a few weeks ago – slips off his shoulder, and he shrugs it off. My mouth goes dry as I watch him slither out of the green silk until he's sitting completely nude, the shimmery fabric pooled around him.

"You're incorrigible," he chides, but I can see he's interested too from the way his cock is perking up.

"I think you mean _insatiable_," I tease, pulling my pyjama top slowly up over my head before tossing it onto the bed. I know he's wild about my chest; all those mandatory Auror workouts have _some_ benefit.

"That too," he says, but his voice sounds a bit strained. He's nearly fully hard now, and the sight of his bobbing cock reminds me of my own erection that is straining against my pyjama trousers. I look down, running the pad of my thumb over the growing wet spot in the blue silk. The friction makes me hiss, and I hear him groan in answer.

"I can't believe we're about to do this," he mumbles, scrambling up to sit on his haunches, exposing himself to me. I laugh, working my way out of the trousers and casting them aside so I can assume the same position.

"Why not?" I ask, stroking myself lazily as I watch him do the same. My breath hitches a bit, but it's still easy to talk. "We've done it loads of times."

His eyes flutter closed as his palm skates over the head of his cock, spreading the slippery precome that I'm sure has gathered there. He moans softly, his head lolling to the side as his eyes open again so he can see me.

"That was different. We were in different cities those times. Sometimes even different c-continents," he stammers, his eyes going wide as I sit back and spread my legs, wandlessly Conjuring a handful of lubricant and rubbing it over my cock and entrance.

"And?" I ask breathlessly, leaning heavily against the bed to support myself as I tease a finger over my hole, shivering as it dips inside and I start to finger fuck myself. My neglected cock twitches, and I balance myself carefully against the bed before using my other hand to resume stroking it, matching my tempo to Draco's.

"Jesus," he groans, his hand flying over his erection as he watches me. "Never in the same _house_, though."

I shrug, unable to hold back a moan when the movement makes my finger run over my prostate. I'm close. I never last long during these encounters, but luckily, neither does Draco. It must be because we're doing something so filthy and perverted, but Floo sex never fails to get me painfully aroused and bring me to a mind-blowing orgasm. I look at him speculatively as he starts to arch and moan, wondering if he would object to still occasionally doing this – even just from different rooms like we are now – after we're married.

It's the last conscious thought I have, because he starts calling out my name as he comes and then I'm lost, too, my channel spasming tightly around my fingers as I speed up the thrusts, my cock pulsing my release into my hand. It's so, so good, but part of me is still a bit sad that he's not physically here with me, that it's not his cock up my arse on this last night of unmarried debauchery we're participating in.

"Master Draco?"

I open my eyes at the tentative voice of a house-elf on Draco's end of the connection. He sighs and grabs his robe, wrapping it around himself as he turns to face the creature. It's not one I'm familiar with, but that's hardly surprising, since there seem to be an endless supply of house-elves serving the Manor.

"Bilby is to be reminding Master Draco and Master Harry –" he looks up apologetically into the flames as he says my name, and I know this can't be anything good. "– that they is to be getting to bed because tomorrow is a busy day."

Draco nods, dismissing the elf with a wave of his hand as he turns back to the Floo.

"Sirs?"

I can hear Draco's low growl of frustration as he whips back around, obviously annoyed that the elf didn't leave.

"I is to be staying until Master Draco closes the Floo and goes to bed," it says meekly, twisting its hands anxiously as it speaks.

"How did she even know we were on the Floo?" I ask out loud, already climbing into my own bed. I have no desire for a house-elf visit myself, and I'm sure that's next on Bilby's agenda if we don't comply.

"Because inter-house Floo calls can be intercepted at any Floo in the house," Narcissa's voice snaps, and Draco and I both recoil. "Go. To. Bed. _Now_!"

TBC


	53. Chapter 53

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 53:**

**Draco's POV, 15 minutes before *the* walk down the aisle**

"Draco…" My mother says, almost pleading with me.

"No! No! And _no_! It's not going to happen! I'm not waiting any longer! Just bring him here!" I impatiently, and rudely, snap at my mother with a hard glare and turning on my heel, I look into the floor length mirror and pull at my silver wedding dress-robes. There isn't a crease or speck of dust anywhere on the entire suit beneath my robes and the actual robe, with its green embroidery on the left – the Malfoy Crest – couldn't look any better. My green bow tie gives the silver shirt beneath my waistcoat and dinner jacket a little bit of an edge and the red rose – I chose red to reflect Harry's Hogwarts house color – which has been sprinkled with golden faerie dust, looks fresh and alive. Thanks to a charm it will continue to do so until I take the suit off later tonight to change into something more comfortable before Harry and I travel to our honeymoon destination by Portkey.

We debated for hours on whether to leave tonight, after the swanky reception, or tomorrow afternoon, and eventually decided it would be best to get away sometime after everyone's had a good few drinks. As none of us will be throwing a bridal bouquet, Harry suggested that we each throw a wingless, slightly enlarged, Golden Snitch into the crowd for the entertainment of our guests. Mother approved of the idea – thankfully – and the two Snitches are safely stored away in a locked box beside the twelve-tier wedding cake Harry and I both helped to design – much to Pansy's disappointment – after my mother point-blank refused to give in when we first requested a three-tier wedding cake.

I think Harry is still a bit embarrassed about the extravagant cake, ice-statues and countless of white, milk and dark chocolate fountains. Thankfully he has no idea exactly how many bottles of top class champagne my mother ordered in preparation for the impending reception – we are, after all, going to cater for over 600 guests. Only about 300 guests have however been invited to the actual ceremony, which suits me just fine. Reciting my vows in front of 300 people is bad enough, but 600 would've probably been enough to make me stammer my way through my marriage promise. Mind you, I'm probably going to stammer my way through them anyway and my cheeks will burn with embarrassment about and Harry will laugh and…

The familiar sound of Harry clearing his throat instantly makes me abandon all my worries and taking a deep breath, I smooth away a nonexistent crease and, interlacing my fingers, I slowly turn and my breath catches in my throat – I did not expect that. The Harry Mother ushered in looks so unlike the Harry I know. His dark, almost black, hair has been brought under control, and I dread to think how long he had to suffer for that. His hair is unmanageable at the best of times – even my personal hairdresser gave up on it, and that is saying something.

But oh my, he looks stunning with his hair more or less flat. His scar has been disguised with a simple charm and his tanned skin is standing out against the pale ivory wedding dress-robes he is wearing. The suit has been tailored to fit snugly to his entire body and the ivory robe gives the whole suit a magical edge. He's opted for a black bow tie and it's an extraordinary eye-catcher. A magically altered rose – it's deep green – adorns his button hole, and like mine it has been sprinkled with faerie dust, silver faerie dust. Like me, he took off his engagement ring and I'm itching to call Julian in to ask him to hand me our rings. I've gotten so used to seeing Harry's left hand adorned by the engagement ring that it looks painfully bare now.

"Lost for words?" Harry teases and chuckles with amusement as he gracefully strides across the room and places his hand on top of my fidgety fingers, instantly calming me. How come he's so cool about this? He's oozing cockiness – as though he knows exactly what's going to happen. Well he does, and so do I, but he's appears to be so damn sure… But one look in Harry's stormy green eyes tells me it's all just a mask. He's every bit as nervous as I am and I let out a breath I wasn't aware I was holding inside. I feel better now. It's all just a show; he's put on to lure everyone around us into a false sense of security.

I lean in and I'm about to kiss Harry when he places a single finger across my lips, effectively stopping me. "After the ceremony," he whispers, and I glare at him. "Quit it," he chides, and lifting my left hand up to his mouth he kisses every single finger before placing a final kiss on my palm, sending ticklish shivers shooting all the way through my body. "Let's do this?" he asks, and not quite trusting my voice to hold, I simply nod. Harry smiles knowingly and entwining our hands, he turns towards the door, ready to walk out and over to entrance doors to the great ballroom, where everyone is eagerly awaiting our arrival. I follow and curtly nod at my mother, who is carefully dabbing her eyes with a crisp quite tissue. "Don't cry," I whisper, and Harry shoots me a glare – apparently it was the wrong thing to say. A sob escapes my mother's throat, but with her head held high, she walks out the door, beckoning us to follow her.

I frown at Harry, who just shakes his head and refuses to say anything. What the hell did I do wrong now? I don't want my mother to cry, so I told her. What's so wrong with it? For the love of Merlin, can this day please be over? I didn't think there was such a strict etiquette on what the groom can say to his mother on the day of his wedding – especially when said groom is her only child.

***

As we take up our position behind my mother – who will honor the pure-blood wedding traditions and formally announce our impending nuptials to the gathered guests – Ron and Hermione, who are Harry's witnesses, and Pansy and Blaise, who are my witnesses, I finally feel the nerves catching up with me. Butterflies are fluttering about my stomach as my son proudly turns to look at me. He's holding a white cushion, which my mother tied two black ring boxes to, and he is beaming with excitement. If only I could experience today through the eyes of a child. It would make everything so much easier.

Mother is going to enter the ballroom first to make the announcement. Then Julian will follow her to take up his position in the first row, next to my mother, until the registrar calls him forth to bring the rings. After Julian, Ron and Hermione will enter the ballroom and Pansy and Blaise will follow. Pansy appointed three flower girls, who will scatter white rose petals on the burgundy carpet, adorning the aisle. Then, after the flower girls have entered the ballroom, Harry and I will walk our last walk as an unmarried couple…

If you think about it, the whole thing sounds rather easy. There's a strict order and everyone knows when to walk and where to walk to – my mother made damn sure of that and poor Ron nearly got stomped into the ground when he turned right instead of left during one of the many rehearsals we had. But it's not easy – it's absolutely not easy. It's nerve-wrecking, standing here, waiting to finally be allowed to step in front of the registrar to marry each other – it's ridiculously nerve-wrecking and tightening my hold on Harry, I seek reassurance when he turns his head slightly to look at me.

"I'm nervous," I whisper, and Harry chuckles.

"I am too," he whispers back and squeezes my hand reassuringly – and Mother thought I'd manage to walk down the aisle by myself after all and meet Harry at the top. If it wasn't for Harry's hold of my hand I'd have fainted about three times by now.

"Do you think we could still make a run for it and tie the knot on some secluded beach? Just you, me and the registrar?"

"That's very unlikely." Harry smiles. "Don't be a wuss. It'll be over in twenty minutes and we'll be married."

"Let's fast forward the time then, please," I plead, and Harry shakes his head with suppressed laughter. Pansy turns around and frowns at both of us but we pointedly ignore her.

"Again. Don't be such a wuss."

"I'm not a wuss, _Potter_!" I snap quietly, and Harry rolls his eyes.

"Whatever, _Malfoy_," he responds. Much to my mother's lack of understanding, Harry won't be changing his name. Well, he we will become Harry Potter-Malfoy – but I am sure most people will continue to address him as Auror Potter – and I in a bit to appease him I've agreed to become Draco Potter-Malfoy. Maybe I'll manage to convince him to become Harry Malfoy sometime in the future and maybe then I, too, can drop the Potter in my name myself. Growling '_Potter, get a bloody move on_' kind of loses its effect when you share the same name, and I really don't want that to happen. Unfortunately Harry refused to agree to be the only one to change his name. It was either both of us or none of us so I had to give in really –Mother would've never ever accepted me refusing to make a change to my name.

The wizarding world is a little bit more old-fashioned in terms of changing your last name after getting married, and if I am honest, it actually suits me just fine. All these modern names in the Muggle world are just ridiculous – which is why I sincerely hope that Potter-Malfoy is just a temporary solution… as accustomed as I've grown to the name Potter, it's just not me – not for the rest of my life, at least. I'm a Malfoy and I'm proud of that. And Harry should be too. Luckily I do have three weeks for pure and utter bliss to convince Harry of that while we're on our honeymoon… and I believe I can be very convincing where Harry is concerned. I mean, look where my offer to pay him in sexual favors for an interview got us to… we're getting married today!

***

Squeezing Harry's hands tightly, I take a deep breath and nod. I can do this. I've recited these vows countless of times in front of the mirror – after charming an image of Harry into it.

"Harry, –" I pause before I even manage to get started and swallowing I take another deep breath to gather myself together while Harry patiently squeezes my hands and waits for me to get started on my vows. Damn it, this isn't as easy as I thought it would be. Reciting your vows to your husband to be in front of everyone you know and love isn't a walk in the park – damn it! Who was I kidding? Clearly myself. Fuck! There should be some 12-step program that helps you to get your nerves under control on the day of your wedding! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Why did I turn down the potion mother offered me this morning over breakfast? Because I wanted to be myself – clearly a rubbish decision.

"Go on…" Harry whispers and smiles encouragingly. I catch his eye and my breath catches in my throat. I've never seen him look at me with such unadulterated love shining in his eyes and it stings my own eyes like a raw onion. This is overwhelming, absolutely overwhelming. And it doesn't help that the entire ballroom is so quiet and expectant that you could hear a pin drop anywhere in the room.

"_Harry_, –" I start again, but this time I'm determined to finish. "It is today, in front of both our families and friends, and Julian, that I wish to tell you how very special you are. We haven't had the most conventional relationship; it's been a rollercoaster of a ride from the word go, when we met at the tender, and supposedly innocent, age of 11," I watch Harry's grin with amusement and it encourages me. "Even when we finally sorted out our differences we weren't what most people would expect the average couple to be. But it's been special, there's no disputing that. It's been our very own journey. We've made mistakes, we've said and done the wrong things, but at the end of the day we did fall in love.

"Had anyone ever told me I'd end up standing opposite you in wedding dress robes I'd have send them straight to St. Mungo's for a full check-up, but that just goes to show that occasionally the impossible does happen." Harry chuckles and nods in agreement. "I love you, Harry, and I want to walk the path of life together with you. I want your face to be the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see before I go to bed at night – for the rest of my life. You've changed my life in ways only you and I could ever imagine, and life with you is crazy beautiful. You never take any rubbish from me and even though I hate you for it, I also love you for it."

"Today I promise you that I will never take you for granted, I will stand by you, and I will cheer you on through all the good times and support you through all the bad times." Holding my hand out for Julian – who's moved to stand in front of us after Pansy gave him a gentle nudge – to hand me Harry's wedding band, I carefully slide it over the third finger on Harry's left hand. "Till death do us part…" I whisper, and taking a deep breath, slowly breathe out and relax. Wow – I've actually managed to get through my entire vows without stumbling over the words. But then I kept staring at Harry the entire time and I blocked out everything around us to be able to concentrate.

"Harry, if you would like to recite your own vows now," the registrar breaks the spell of silence in the room and Harry briefly breaks our eye contact to nod at the registrar. He discreetly clears his throat and making sure to look straight at me, he takes a deep breath.

"_Draco_, – I believe this is attempt No. one hundred thousand-twelve – at least I think it is because I stopped counting some time after No. ninety-five – of me trying to find the right words for my vows. On my journey to this final version of my vows, I have discovered that there are simply no _right_ words, there are just those words I deem appropriate to recite to you on this very day, words I deem _worthy_ of you. But when words are all you have and the man you're going to wed is an internationally acclaimed bestselling author, the matter becomes more complicated than it is supposed to be." Harry pauses to compose himself and I can't help but chuckle and shake my head. Trust Harry to pull this off.

"One of the versions of my vows consisted of exactly three words – _I give up_ – I was particularly desperate when I wrote that version. Another version was so nauseatingly romantic that I binned it straight away, thinking you might puke all over my wedding robes." I can't help but laugh at that and vaguely note that a few guests also chuckle with amusement. "And a third version was about twenty pages long. I suspect I drifted off topic sometime before the third paragraph. What I'd like to tell you today, is rather simple. I love you, Draco; I love you so much it's actually quite scary." Harry pauses yet again and the hesitation in my eyes tells me that he's about to bin the rest of his own vows to finish off his speech with something original, something unrehearsed. My heart beats faster at the mere thought of that.

"Life with you is crazy beautiful. That's what you said to me, less than five minutes ago, and I agree. You're one of a kind, Draco Malfoy, and you've wormed your way under my skin and made me fall for you in ways no other man ever would've managed. Since the first time I told you that I love you, I've discovered what true love is." I watch Harry take the my own wedding band from Julian's tiny hands – my son's beaming up at both of us and he's making me want to cry like a baby – and carefully sliding the cold metal over the third finger of my left hand, he makes one final vow. "You. Me. To eternity and beyond."

***

"…You may now kiss your hus–" Entirely disregarding the registrar's words, blocking them out even, I pull Harry towards me and wrapping my arms around his neck, I press my lips against his own in a searing kiss – I vaguely notice that most people, who are clapping, have also gotten up. Small silver, gold, red and green fireworks are exploding over our heads – without a doubt my mother's work of art, with the help of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes – as I kiss Harry as though I haven't seen him in months.

It's only been one evening, night and morning, but I'm so starved of Harry's touch that I cannot seem to stop myself and it is only the registrar discreetly clearing his throat that reminds me that Harry and I are not in our private bedchambers. Reluctantly breaking the kiss, I pull away and stare at Harry with awe – my husband. He actually is _my husband_! Or maybe it's all just a dream?

"Pinch me..." I whisper, and Harry obliges with a chuckle. "Ouch! Not a dream then." I nod and break into a grin. "You're stuck with me now, Potter," I say, and my eyes light up with a waterfall of inappropriate thoughts.

Harry shifts uncomfortably but grins right back at me. "You know, Malfoy, it's not such a bad fate, I think…"

TBC


	54. Chapter 54

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 54:**

**Harry's POV, two hours later**

I pull Draco into a dimly lit alcove in the stone wall that surrounds the rose garden, far enough away from the tent filled with people on the lawn that we won't be overheard, though we can still hear the music from the string quartet Narcissa hired. The guests are finishing dinner, and I thought it a perfect opportunity to slip away.

Draco shivers in the cool breeze, and I realize for the first time how nice it feels to be out of the heated tent. In our wedding finery, surrounded by 600 people, I'd gotten rather sweaty. My breath puffs out in clouds in front of me as a take a deep breath, filling my lungs with cold, fresh air and I find myself shivering, too, as the movement brings my sweat-dampened back into contact with the now-cool fabric of my suit and robes.

My heart swells as I study Draco, who is taking advantage of this quiet time to do the same to me. We're married. _Married._ I can't help but let my gaze drift down to his left hand, the platinum wedding band I put on his finger just two hours ago glinting in the moonlight.

"My husband," I whisper with quiet awe, my pulse jumping at the way Draco's grey eyes widen at my words.

His lips curve into a smile, and he pulls me close, echoing my words just before our lips meet. The kiss is gentle and slow at first, but before long we're using teeth and tongues to nip at each other. My hands slip underneath the robes Draco is wearing over his Muggle suit, fumbling with buttons as I desperately try to reach skin. The realization that Draco is my _husband_, that we'll spend the rest of our lives together, is suddenly too much for me. I've kept my composure through the ceremony and the interminable toasts that started the reception, but now I can feel a sob rising in my throat. My hands clutch at him and I deepen the already fierce kissing, trying to pour all of my feelings – feelings I have no adequate words for – into the way I'm touching him.

We completely miss Narcissa clearing her throat behind us. Merlin only knows how long she stood there before speaking; the delicate flush on her usually pale cheeks tells me it was long enough to realize just how intimately we're wrapped around each other.

"The cake, gentlemen," she says, quirking an eyebrow at us.

"I've got to fix those damn wards," Draco grumbles as he rests his forehead against mine, trying to catch his breath. He shuffles closer to me, and I can feel the erection he's trying to hide from his mother pressing against mine.

Narcissa's tinkling laugh rings out in the cold night, and we turn our heads to face her, surprised she's not angrier that we've snuck away. She had, after all, threatened to hunt us down and find us if we did. A promise she'd made good on.

"I didn't need the wards to find you," she says, shaking her head. "I'm sure everyone at the reception can feel the waves of magic and lust rolling off you two."

I blush at her words, my heart pounding in my chest at the thought of all those people knowing exactly what we're doing, what we're feeling.

"Come and cut the cake and get through the customary dances and I promise you can leave," she says, surprising me again. We hadn't told her about our intention to bolt at the earliest possible opportunity.

She stares at us expectantly, but neither of us is really in the position to move at the moment. Not without showing my new mother-in-law _much_ more than I'm comfortable with.

She laughs again after a moment, her blue eyes dancing with amusement.

"Ah, to be young," she says wistfully, winking at us. "I'll hold them off for a bit. It's warmer _in_ the rose garden, you know. The charms protecting the plants stave off the chill."

We stare dumbly at her, unable to believe that Narcissa Malfoy – Draco's mother and my mother-in-law – is giving us advice about the best place on the Malfoy grounds to have an illicit sexual encounter. She smiles at us again and turns, her silk gown swishing gracefully as she makes her way back across the immaculate lawn toward the brightly lit tent.

"What just happened?" I ask, still dumbfounded by Narcissa's sudden shift in attitude. She'd been absolutely rabid about this wedding for months, and now that we've snuck away and abandoned the guests, she's _amused_?

"I just lost my erection, that's what," Draco says dryly, releasing me and taking a step back. My own cock is still half-hard, and I run my eyes over him, noting the slight look of mortification on his face for the first time. "My parents were married in February. With a reception out in the gardens. Just like ours."

His eyes wander toward the stone wall that separates us from the rose garden, his brows creasing in discomfort. The implication hits me a moment later, quite effectively killing what's left of the mood. I sigh, straightening my robes as Draco uses his fingers to fix his hair.

"Back to the reception it is, then," I say ruefully, grinning at Draco and linking arms with him as we set off across the lawn.

***

We surprised everyone, ourselves included, by staying until the end of the reception. Watching Draco dance with his mother had been beautiful, and the look on Molly's face when I asked her to dance in place of my own mother is something I'll never forget. We had such a good time dancing with our guests and each other (though Ron pulled us apart at one point, fearful that we had forgotten about our audience – which we had) that three hours flew by like minutes, and we were shocked when the band announced it was about to play the last song.

"You should finish out the night the way you started it," Hermione says, dipping gracefully out of my arms and pushing me toward Draco, who is dancing with Pansy. "With your husband."

I blush, wondering if that word will always have this effect on me. My pulse races and my chest tightens as I watch my _husband_ walk across the dance floor toward me, and only the excruciating hours of training with Narcissa on decorum prevents me from running to close the gap between us. When he's finally in my arms my entire body relaxes, and I'm glad the band has chosen a slow song to play for its finale, because all I want to do is wrap myself around Draco and breathe in his scent.

I can't believe it when Draco starts softly singing the words to the song in my ear. It's a Muggle song by Eric Clapton, and never in a million years would I have expected him to know it. It's always been one of my favorites, ever since Arthur told me it's the song my parents danced to at their own wedding.

"And the wonder of it all, is you just don't realize how much I love you," he sings, and I can't help but shiver slightly as his hot breath caresses the shell of my ear.

I blink back tears as I nestle deeper into his arms, comforted beyond measure by the fact that I know without a shadow of a doubt that he loves me every bit as much as I love him. It's staggering, really, to love someone this much. He presses a kiss against my neck as the song ends, squeezing me tightly before releasing me.

"How did you know?" I ask, staring at him in wonder. I'd never mentioned the song, I was sure of it.

"I asked Molly and Arthur if there were any songs that held sentimental value for you," he says, looking slightly uncomfortable. "I wanted to surprise you."

I nod, not trusting myself to reply. It was a perfect note to end the evening with, a private tribute to my parents that I'll never forget.

"You do, you know," he murmurs, pulling me in for a soft kiss. "You look wonderful tonight."

***

It's well after 2 a.m. when we finally grab our Portkey. Narcissa, Pansy, Theo and the Weasleys have all gathered in the Manor's entryway to see us off, and I roll my eyes when I realize that Narcissa, Molly and Hermione are all crying.

"We'll be back in three weeks," I say, giving each of them a kiss on the cheek.

"It's not that," Molly says, brushing at her tears. "You're _married_. Now all my babies are married except Charlie."

I share a grin with Ron, both of us knowing it will only be a matter of days before she starts in on nagging Charlie about making an honest witch out of the woman he's been seeing for several years. A warm feeling spreads in my chest, and I'm pleased that after all these years Molly still thinks of me as one of her own. I certainly think of the Weasleys as my own family, and Narcissa, Pansy and Theo as well.

And Jules, of course. He's refused to go to bed until we leave, so it's a very tousled and tired little boy who holds his hands up to be carried. Draco grabs him, swinging him up on to his hip and cradling him between us. We both give him loud, smacking kisses on his cheeks, eliciting a sleepy giggle from him.

"We love you," Draco says, looking Julian in the eyes and dropping a kiss on his nose. "We'll be back before you know it. Be good for Mummy and Theo, alright?"

Julian leans in and whispers something in Draco's ear that makes his eyes go wide. He pauses for a moment, a smile breaking over his face.

"That's fine with me, but you'll have to ask them," he says, kissing Julian's forehead before handing him over to me.

Small hands splayed on each of my cheeks, Julian pulls me in so he can whisper in my ear as well.

"Can I call you Daddy Harry now that you're married to my Papa?" he asks, pulling back so he can see my face.

I'm stunned, so bursting with happiness that I don't know how to respond. He's only just started calling Draco Papa in the last few months; he's always called me Uncle Harry.

"Of course," I say, giving him another kiss on the cheek before letting him down when he starts to squirm. He runs over to Theo, and he must have asked him the same question, because Theo meets my eye, his expression as gobsmacked as I'm sure mine was.

"Of course," I hear him echo, hitching Julian higher on his hip.

"Goodbye Papa!" Julian cries, waving madly at us when we take hold of the Portkey. "Goodbye Daddy Harry! I'll be good for Mummy and Daddy Theo. I'll take care of Godric, even. I promise!"

Pansy winces at the mention of the coal-black Crup puppy Draco bought for Julian. He'd let Jules name it, and to everyone's horror – except mine – he'd chosen to call it Godric after Godric Gryffindor.

"Bon voyage!" Draco says, activating the Portkey in our hands.

***

At first I think we haven't gone far, because outside the window next to me it's still dark out, wherever we are. Draco has been extremely secretive about where we were spending our honeymoon, refusing to tell anyone, even me, its location. Not that I mind. As long as I get three uninterrupted weeks with Draco, we could spend them in the Hogwarts Quidditch cupboard for all I care.

We're still in our rumpled wedding clothes, though we lost the robes some time ago. I'm momentarily distracted by the way the moonlight makes the hollow of Draco's throat, visible through his unbuttoned shirt collar, glow subtly. Then I realize that the air is warm, not cold, and that the gentle breeze that blows through the open window smells of salt, not snow.

"The boat," I say, a grin spreading across my face as I look around, noticing the way the floor sways gently. It's as opulently appointed as any five-star resort, from marble-tiled bathrooms to rich, soft rugs thrown over teak floors, so aside from the gentle rocking of the boat, it's not immediately obvious that we're at sea.

"The _yacht_," he corrects me, rolling his eyes. "Only _you_ would call a 140-meter yacht with a crew of eighteen a _boat_."

"It floats on water. It's a boat," I tease, grinning when his grey eyes flash with annoyance. "Alright, it's a yacht. And an exceptionally beautiful one at that."

Draco shakes his head in mock exasperation, his fingers moving to slide his undone bowtie off his neck. He tosses it onto the bed, shirking out of his coat, next. I watch him, admiring his economy of movement as he strips off the formal wear that has been driving my libido crazy all night. It isn't until he tosses one of his shoes in my direction that I realize I'm still fully clothed.

I grin sheepishly, focusing on undressing myself as I watch him peel off his tailored trousers. Standing there in black socks and a pair of boxers he ought to look like an idiot, but he doesn't; he looks nothing short of amazing. My mouth waters as he bends to pull the socks off, his hands moving to the waistband of his boxers next. I hurry to undress, tearing at my clothes until we're both standing there naked.

"We should tell the crew we're here," I murmur as he kisses me, his hands roaming over my naked skin.

"They would have felt the shift in the wards," he mutters, cupping my jaw with warm hands and holding me steady as he kisses me.

"Then we should tell them we're busy," I say, pulling back a bit. I have no desire to be caught in the act for the _second_ time tonight.

"They know," he answers, making it clear the discussion was over by running one of his hands down my back to cup my arse cheek.

I groan, letting him lead me over to the gigantic bed. The room is small – it is on a _boat_, after all – but somehow the designer managed to fit a king-sized bed into the master cabin. The room isn't cramped; it's probably the size of my old bedroom at Grimmauld Place – before it was done up –, which is ridiculously large for a yacht, but it's nowhere near as palatial as the suite we share at the Manor. The more intimate setting makes this much more delicious, somehow, and I don't complain, even when my shin hits the bedside table and pain blossoms up my leg.

"Love you so fucking much," Draco murmurs against my lips, pushing me back against the bed and following me down, his weight trapping me against the side of the bed. Our legs dangle down to the floor, but he doesn't let me scoot back; he's already parting my arse cheeks with his fingers, his erection pressing hotly against my thigh. I swallow hard, my pulse jumping at the thought that he wants me enough to threaten to take me dry. I cast a hasty wandless Lubrication charm on both him and myself, and I can feel his lips curve into a smile as he continues to kiss me, letting him lift my legs until they're resting against his shoulders.

I groan when I feel his fingers kneading my exposed arse, his thumb rubbing circles against my entrance, silently ordering me to relax. My cock is leaking against my stomach, pinned there by his torso, and I wiggle against him, trying to get any kind of relief I can. He laughs, deepening the kiss. I hiss out a breath when he replaces his thumb with the blunt head of his cock, arousal shuddering through me as he pushes past the tight ring of muscle without any further preparation. He sinks into me slowly, and I force myself to relax as he edges in deeper and deeper until I feel his balls rest against my arse.

"Slow or fast?" he asks, but I know he already knows the answer, because he's pulling back to thrust in again, harder this time.

"Fast," I pant, fisting my hands in the duvet to try to keep from being pushed back further on the mattress as he pounds into me.

He grins at me, and my heart nearly stops at the glint in his grey eyes. Merlin, I hope we never lose this spark. I hope I love him this much, this _fiercely_, in twenty years. He drives into me again, and I arch into his thrusts, forcing him deeper still.

I frown when he reaches down across my body, grabbing my left hand and forcing my fingers open. It's not until our rings clink together softly that I realize what he's doing. He twines our fingers together, our new wedding bands touching, never slowing the pace of his thrusts. It's enough to undo me, and I'm coming without him ever touching my cock, my eyes glued to our hands, which are still tightly wrapped around each other. He groans above me, and I know he's coming as well, his movements slightly less smooth than they had been moments before as he empties himself inside me.

"Love you," he murmurs, squeezing the hand he captured earlier. He doesn't relinquish it even as he pulls out and collapses on the bed next to me. The position my arm is in is uncomfortable, but I don't care.

"Love you, too," I answer, still not quite able to believe that we're _married._ We've just had _married _sex. I grin, thinking about how married sex isn't so different from unmarried sex.

***

The room looks different in the light of the day. Sunlight streams in the windows, slanting across my pillow and waking me from the most restful sleep I've had in weeks. I blink blearily, taking a moment to figure out where I am. A smile spreads across my face as I realize we're in the cabin of the yacht, with three entire weeks spread out before us to do nothing but relax and have sex.

Draco stirs beside me, his hair sticking up all over his pillow in the most endearing way. He rolls to his side, reaching out and pulling me closer to him without even opening his eyes.

"Morning," he says with a yawn, snuggling closer to me.

"I doubt that," I answer, fumbling on the nightstand for my watch. It's just after 1 p.m. Definitely not morning.

"Mmm," he says noncommittally, and I jump in surprise when one of his hands starts fondling my arse.

"Hungry," I whine, laughing when he sighs in exasperation.

"Let's get up, then. I'm sure the crew has prepared brunch for us. I warned them we'd be here late and probably up late as well."

I climb out of bed, struck for the first time by the fact that I didn't pack anything for the honeymoon. Draco had said to leave all the details to him, including that, and I'd did it without questioning him. But as I think about it, I can't remember him bringing any sort of luggage along.

He disappears into the adjoining bathroom, and I grin when I hear him curse out loud when he notices his hair. I think he looks adorable, rather like Julian does in the mornings, but I know he's too vain to share my opinion. He'll no doubt fix it while he brushes his teeth, which is a shame, in my opinion. I'd like a little more time to admire my unkempt husband before he gets dressed.

"Draco?" I call out when the water shuts off. "Where are our clothes?"

My question is met with silence, so I poke my head into the bathroom. He's leaning up against the counter, brushing his teeth with a smirk. I know that look, and it makes me uneasy. He seems unusually preoccupied with oral hygiene this morning, and it takes an inordinately long amount of time before he spits into the sink and rinses his mouth.

"Draco," I say again, my voice sterner this time. "Where are our clothes?"

His smirk grows, and my stomach flutters.

"Didn't bring any," he says, goosing my arse as he saunters by me and back into the bedroom.

"You _didn't bring any?_" I ask, horrified. "'Leave the honeymoon to me,' you said. 'I'll take care of everything,' you said."

He nods, smiling brightly at me.

"What fun would things be if we had clothes? As long as we never forget our Sunblock Charm, we'll be fine."

I gape at him, hoping this is all some sort of joke.

"But – the crew," I stammer, which makes him laugh.

"They're very well paid to be discreet. No one will be shocked, I promise."

I stare at him for a few more seconds, unable to believe what he's saying. We're to spend three weeks sailing around with more than a dozen other people aboard and be _naked_ the entire time? I shake my head at him, resolving to have the captain stop in the nearest port as soon as we can to stock up on clothes. Instead of responding to Draco, who's clearly gone mad, I stalk to the bathroom and brush my teeth, stooping to pick up my tuxedo shirt on the way. He can go to breakfast nude if he wants to, but _I'm_ damn well going to keep my dangly bits covered.

**Author's note**: The song Draco sings to Harry is Eric Clapton's "Wonderful Tonight". (Which, coincidently, I danced to with my own hubby at our wedding. *grins*) Lyrics can be found here:

**www (dot) lyricsfreak (dot) com/e/eric+clapton/wonderful+tonight_20051481 (dot) html**

TBC


	55. Chapter 55

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

**Chapter 55:**

**Draco's POV, a month later**

" – and so we spend three weeks in the most colorful tunics you've ever seen…"

I set my champagne flute down with a smirk and chuckle along as everyone at the dinner table laughs out loud. I'm impressed. I didn't think Harry would share our little nudity experience with our friends, but this just goes to show how much at ease he feels with Pansy, Theo, Ron and Hermione around. We returned home a week ago but we had so much to sort out at the Manor that tonight is the first night we've actually managed to free up some time to meet our friends for dinner for a casual catch up. Hermione organized a private booth with a table for six at the Leaky Cauldron for us all and it's a perfect evening. Dinner was delicious, the dessert – treats Harry and I brought back from our honeymoon – melted on our tongues and we're all slightly intoxicated due to the copious amounts of champagne we've had over the course of the evening. Maybe that's the reason why Harry is sharing intimate stories about our honeymoon with our friends.

Coincidently, Harry and I have been married exactly _one_ _month_ tonight, which makes being in the company of close friends extra-special. I spent most of the last week changing around the wards at the Manor – now that my mother has moved to France where she has been having a ball this last month, or so she told me – and whereas I thought it would be a one day job it turned into a three day job. Harry used the time to pop into his office to meet with the Minister and sort some urgent issues, but thankfully he still has a two week's worth of holiday, which suits me perfectly as we're taking Julian for an overnight trip up to Scotland – I must make up to my son for only managing to spend one afternoon with him this last week.

Upon our return Harry and I both found an invitation to a Hogwarts Slytherin vs. Gryffindor Alumni Quidditch game amongst the piles of congratulatory cards and thank you notes, and we took one look at each other and the decision was made. The opportunity for a Slytherin vs. Gryffindor alumni game was too good to turn down, so we both RSVP'ed with 'yes – attending'. Apparently Harry will be Captaining the Gryffindor team. I'm not entirely sure I like the thought of that, but what can I do?

"You must show us pictures!" Pansy claps her hands excitedly, and turning my head, I grin at her and smile as I watch her entwine hands with Theo. My glance is suddenly drawn to the champagne flute in front of her – which is filled with white grape juice. I remember this because Theo ordered an entire bottle for her and she's been casually sipping away on it. She's been avoiding the champagne all evening, and out of the six of us she's probably the only one who isn't intoxicated.

Sitting up straight, I purse my lips and use the momentary silence to question her – I know I should probably ask her to step away from the table with me, but I couldn't care less. She's the mother of my child.

"Okay, I believe Pansy has an announcement to make," I say, and pausing mid-laugh, Pansy too straightens up in her seat and grips Theo's hand a little tighter.

"Do I?" she asks casually, and glancing around the table, she smiles sweetly at everyone. I catch Ron thrown and Hermione fires me a glare. Theo's expression is non-committal and Harry looks rather confused.

"You've never been good at playing games with me, Pansy." I smile and incline my head to the almost empty bottle of grapevine next to her. "It's a dead give-away."

"You only noticed now." She smiles.

"Would anyone care to enlighten me about what you two are talking about?" Harry budges in. "Draco? Please?"

Turning my face to look at my husband, I chuckle. "Pansy's –" But I am interrupted before I can finish my sentence.

"Pregnant," Pansy finishes for me and everyone at the table, excluding me and Theo gapes. "It's early days, but yes, Theo and I are having another child. Well, two actually. The Healers at St. Mungo's confirmed that I'm definitely having twins. They weren't entirely sure up until last week."

"That's wonderful news, Pansy. I'm so happy for you." Hermione is the first to find her voice, and judging by how quickly she recovered from the shock – Ron and Harry are still gaping – I presume that she and Pansy talked while Harry and I were gone – it is astonishing how many things change when you're out of the country for a little while. Although I have to admit that Pansy's confirmation knocked me for six. I'm not quite sure how I'm managing to keep my composure, but I am. Apparently Harry can sense that I'm struggling to comprehend, and even though he still hasn't said a word – and looks rather gobsmacked – he supportively places his hand on top of mine. I squeeze his hand and lean back against my chair. I've got to digest this… there really is a major difference between having a suspicion and having your suspicion confirmed.

***

"I really don't see how Pansy wants to manage looking after Julian, a toddler and newborn twins. Jules is a full-time job as it is," I sigh much later that night when Harry and I have retired to bed. I insisted on us walking to an Apparition point halfway across London, and even though Harry was itching to point out the Apparition point next to the Leaky Cauldron – I could see it in his eyes, he was contemplating saying it aloud – he never said a word but silently walked next to me, my hand in his.

He tried to get me to talk to him twice when we got home, but I refused, and Harry knows better than to push the matter when I don't want to talk about something. It's one of the reasons why I love Harry so damn much. He miraculously knows when to say something and when it's safer for him to just sit back and keep his thoughts to himself. Granted, he doesn't always stick to that recipe – he often force-feeds me his opinion when he considers it necessary – but when it really matters he respects that I need my time to think things over.

"She's managing just fine now," Harry says, and drawing me closer, he pushes one of his legs between my thighs and runs his fingers up and down my spine. I arch my back slightly and he chuckles and laps at my throat. We've yet to spend a night not having sex now that we're married, and I don't think tonight will be the night that we break our marathon…

"Yes, but now she has two kids – a baby and Julian. And what with Jules spending every other week here at the Manor, she has time to focus on the baby. How is she supposed to do that when she has Jules wreaking havoc around the house, a two-year-old princess leaving a trail of destruction in her wake and _two_ screaming babies in a cot? She will lose the rack!"

"Pansy is a very capable woman," Harry tries to appease me and massaging my bum, he continues to assault my throat and neck as well as my shoulders. "She'll manage just fine."

"I don't think so…" I breathe and shudder when Harry rubs his thigh against my growing erection, teasing me.

"Why not?" Harry mumbles between kisses, and looking up at me, he smiles and places a soft kiss on my lips.

"Four children, Harry, four, with the oldest being six," I snarl, and Harry sneakily pushes his tongue between my lips and seeks out my own. For a moment I give in and allow Harry to kiss me, but then I break the kiss and glare at him.

He sighs softly and, pushing me onto my back, he rolls on top of me and slides in-between my legs, thrusting forward. His erection meets mine and I throw my head back into the pillow and groan – boy, does he have to play with unfair methods? I'm going to enlarge his arse when we place that alumni Quidditch game just so I'll be able to actually focus on finding the Snitch before Harry does – I'm not very confident that I'm going to win against Harry, but I'm not going down without a fight.

"She'll do fine," Harry whispers, continuing to thrust. He's driving me insane but I'm not going to let him get to me just yet. I do have a bit of self-control left in me – even though I want to do nothing else but beg Harry to shove his cock as deep up my arse as he can and fuck until come so hard I'll drag him over the edge with me.

"She won't," I complain and hiss when Harry utters the words to the _Aperio Vis Vires _spell to bring my arms above my head. I shudder and the sensations are nearly enough to tip me over the edge. But another muttered spell from Harry effectively prevents my relief and a second later I find myself bound to our bed. He's playing very Slytherin tonight and I hate him for it.

"Must I gag you?" he whispers, and I glare at him. "Don't tempt me, love," he whispers, trailing kisses over my face, neck, throat, shoulders, upper arms and chest. His lips are virtually everywhere and his slow thrusts are driving me up the wall. I impatiently tug on my bonds and mumble something incoherent which results in me instantly finding myself gagged. I struggle against the unwanted restraint but Harry just smirks. "You asked for it."

I want to talk back, I want to tell him that I didn't, but all I can do is grunt and he chuckles, and the vibrations set my body on fire. I struggle more insistently and fight the gag with my teeth and tongue, but neither restraint is budging. Harry is exceptionally thorough when it comes to rendering me defenseless, and I both love and hate it. He renews the _Aperio Vis Vires_ spell once more, but this time it's accompanied by a Lubricating Spell, and before I can grunt my disapproval about the cool sensations, the heat of Harry's cock nullifies the feeling.

He pushes inside me with one smooth thrust and I briefly tense at the sudden intrusion. There's pain, but all the pleasure quickly overshadows any discomfort and I entangle my fingers in my bonds as Harry pulls out of me and thrusts right back in, brushing my prostate. His rhythm is even and his eyes are locked on mine. It feels like we're staring into each other's souls as he slides in and out of me, bringing us both closer and closer to completion. His breathing quickly becomes labored and I can see that his arms are struggling to hold his weight, but he bravely fights on.

He doesn't draw things out, he doesn't tease; he's as desperate for release as I am, and a mere few minutes later, I find myself squeezing my eyes tightly shut as my orgasm takes control of my body, roughly shoving me over the edge and spiraling into the darkness. Harry thrusts into me one last time and the spasms of my channel make it impossible for him to continue pushing into me. But my muscles contracting around him are enough to pull him over the edge and he collapses on top of me as he relieves himself deep inside of me.

A panted spell removes both my gag and bonds and he rolls off me, slipping out of me as he does so, and drawing me into his arms, he buries his face in the crook of my neck, mumbling that he loves me.

"Love you too," I whisper, and locking my slightly numb arms around him, I hold tight as we both drift off into the land of dreams, thoroughly satisfied.

***

"I want Jules to move in with us," I state right out of the blue over breakfast the next morning, and Harry splutters his coffee back into the cup and spills a rather large amount of the black beverage on his toast and beige trousers.

"Excuse me?" Harry looks at me as though I've grown a second head and for the first time in ages I witness him ignore the house-elf that appeared to remove his ruined toast and serve him two fresh slices of buttered toast with his favorite blackberry jam with vanilla flavor.

"You heard me," I shrug.

"Yes I did, but I don't think I actually got you."

"What's there to get? I want Jules to move in with us. It's not like the Manor as foreign to him. He feels at home here, he'd love living here full-time."

"I doubt Pansy would be delighted about that."

"Actually, I think she'd be glad. She could focus on Lynne and she could really prepare herself for the twins. I'm not saying Jules should move here for good, but a year or two maybe, and then we'll see. He could decide then whether he wants to stay here or move back to Pansy and Theo."

"And you will let him go should he want to move back, yes?" Harry asks, and I give him a pointed look. "Thought so. Draco, do not go looking for trouble. For once, just enjoy the peace."

"But I want Jules," I insist, and Harry sighs, sets his coffee mug down and folds his hands.

"Draco, you have Jules. He's staying here whenever he wants to. Pansy hasn't even once refused you to see him. But if you go down that road, you're most definitely looking for trouble. She isn't going to like this."

"We could at least speak to her about it," I pout.

"We?"

"We're married," I glare, and Harry laughs.

"I knew you'd play that card. Fine, we'll talk to her. Actually, _I_ will talk to her and see what she says…"

TBC


	56. Chapter 56

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

***

**Author's Note (_Selly87_): **Unfortunately this story is rapidly nearing it's end, which I know isn't good news, but it's been a rollercoaster of a ride for Harry and Draco so I think they deserve some rest. There's one more chapter after this one before The Proposal will reach its well-deserved end. I'm however in splendid writing mood so if anyone would like to suggest a possible spin-off they'd like to read, suggest away by leaving a review for this chapter. I'll have a look and if something inspires me I'll let you know. Please bear in mind that is has to be Draco's POV as Harry's POV is Bru's so I won't be venturing into those waters. Nethertheless, I'm looking forward to something you'll come up with and please don't be shy :) ~Selly x

**Chapter 56:**

**Harry's POV, about six years later**

"– cannot be allowed to continue, as I'm sure you understand," the Headmistress says, and I nod, though I'm not entirely sure _why_ what's happened is such a big deal. Draco and I certainly got into more trouble while we were here, though my circumstances were much different. I snicker as I imagine Dumbledore having this conversation with the Dursleys, drawing a stern glare from McGonagall.

"This is no laughing matter, Mr. Potter."

Draco clears his throat, bringing her attention back to him.

"It's Potter-Malfoy, Headmistress," he says, glaring at Pansy when she snorts.

"My apologies," McGonagall says, not sounding the least bit sorry. I don't blame her; I'm still Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, to most people, or Auror Potter, to those unlucky enough to have broken the law. No one but Draco calls me Potter-Malfoy. "But that aside, these are very serious allegations. I must insist you pay them the proper attention."

"Were there no witnesses?" Theo asks, and I can practically see the gears turning in his Slytherin mind.

"There were two hundred and seventy one witnesses, Mr. Nott!"

It's hard not to snicker again; she sounds so indignant. I can't blame her, really. She expects us to behave like responsible adults, but all four of us are acting like students ourselves. It's something about this office. It makes me feel like I'm fourteen again and getting dressed down by Dumbledore. His portrait snores loudly from its place on the wall, but the way his eyelids flutter every now and again makes me doubt that he's really asleep. I imagine he's rather enjoying this. Snape's watching with unabashed interest; he's clearly proud of his snakes and their progeny.

"They _all_ saw Julian drop the potion in the other students' cup?" Theo asks, his eyes widening comically.

McGonagall's thin lips practically disappear as she looks at him. We all know no one saw him.

"You know the answer to that, Mr. Nott," she says stiffly, her chin rising in defiance.

"But at least some of them saw him with the potion beforehand? Brewing it, perhaps?" Draco cuts in, smoothing the pleat in his trouser leg disinterestedly.

"_No_, no one has any recollection of seeing him with the potion," McGonagall says through clenched teeth. "But be that as it may –"

"I'm terribly sorry, Headmistress," Pansy says, offering McGonagall a small, apologetic smile. "But I'm afraid I find myself rather confused. No one saw my son dose this student with the potion, and no one has any evidence linking him to brewing or ever even being in possession of the potion. Why, exactly, is he being punished for the act?"

It's hard, so very hard, not to laugh. Poor McGonagall. She had no idea what she was in for when she called this meeting; I doubt she expected all four of Julian's parents to show up, for starters, and she definitely hadn't counted on three of the four bringing the full brunt of their Slytherin cunning and condescension to defend him.

"No one _saw_ Mr. Malfoy do it, but everyone _knows_ he was the responsible party!" McGonagall snaps, her eyes flashing. "He and Mr. Eronson had a very public disagreement two weeks ago, and now, after a meal Mr. Malfoy was conspicuously absent for, Mr. Eronson finds himself in the infirmary!"

"If Julian wasn't even _at_ the meal, how can you suspect him of doctoring this boy's food?" Theo asks, crossing his legs.

"I didn't say he wasn't at the meal, Mr. Nott," she responds, sending him an icy glare. "I said he was _conspicuously absent_. And as the only student in this school to be in possession of an invisibility cloak –"

"You think just because he's my son I've given him free use of my invisibility cloak?" I ask, cutting her off. This has gone on long enough, and I'm ready to be done with it. Besides, I'm itching for the chance to talk to Jules myself.

"Don't play games with me, Mr. Potter," she barks out, and I'm afraid we've broken her when Draco calms cuts in, correcting her _again_.

"I don't care what he calls himself, Mr. Malfoy!" she yells, two bright spots of color blossoming on her wrinkled cheeks. She's terribly old; I begin to worry that we're pushing her toward a heart attack. "My point is that his son – _your son_ – has changed another student from male to female, and it _cannot be allowed_."

I can't help myself. The thought of my second-year Ravenclaw son seeking such Slytherin revenge – against a Slytherin fifth-year, to boot – is too much, and I find myself covering my laugh with a rough cough. It doesn't fool anyone, and I notice Pansy, Theo and Draco all smirking briefly before schooling their features into calm concern.

"_His _name is Potter-Malfoy, too," Pansy says, nodding toward Draco and ignoring McGonagall's audible sigh. "I still don't understand why you think this is something Julian would do."

"The altercation with Mr. Eronson two weeks ago involved Mr. Eronson insulting the _Misters_ _Malfoy-Potters' _relationship," she says stiffly.

"As I recall, from the very disturbed owl I received from my son, this boy was loudly speculating which of us was the _girl_ of the relationship," Draco says, his grey eyes suddenly hard as he fixed the Headmistress with a glare. "Rather than sit here and discuss the obvious attempt to use Julian as a scapegoat for a prank you can't solve, I'd rather talk about why the other boy received nothing but a few docked points for his remarks."

It was true that Julian had been quite upset at the older Slytherin's taunts, though I personally think most of that anger stemmed from the fact that the teachers had broken up the fight before Julian could get any good defensive spells in. He might only be a second-year, but his dueling skills are probably closer to sixth-year level.

McGonagall shifts uneasily in her chair, pursing her lips.

"Mr. Eronson's punishment for the earlier altercation is not what we are here to discuss. And the fact that he chose such an unfortunate word to describe your relationship with Mr. Potter-Malfoy is _exactly_ why I and the other professors believe young Mr. Malfoy was to blame for today's attack," she sniffs, pinning us all with a glare that would have had us quaking if we were students. "Poor Mr. Eronson is resting in the infirmary at the moment, and since we have no idea what potion was used, we cannot help return him to his ... natural state."

I laugh, shaking my head. This is all too much, it really is.

"I would guess Eronson will recover eventually. Perhaps spending a few days as a female will help him change his perspective," I say, and I see Pansy smother a laugh out of the corner of my eye. "You said you think this was a potion – do you really believe a second-year could brew something like that?"

McGonagall falters for the first time all evening, and I know we have her. Gender altering potions are ridiculously difficult to brew, and most take months, not the mere two weeks Julian would have had.

"I think we're finished here," Draco says, standing and offering McGonagall his hand. She shakes it automatically. "You have no evidence that Julian has done anything wrong. Should you go forward with his punishment, we'll have no choice but to take this matter to the Board of Governors."

McGonagall clenches her teeth, her lips pressed so tightly together they've gone completely white. Draco has a seat on the board, as does Theo's sister. There's no chance that any punishment won't be immediately overturned, especially since there really is no concrete evidence against Jules.

"We'd like to see our son before we leave," Pansy says, smiling sweetly at the seething Headmistress. "I've no doubt being falsely accused of something so serious has had an effect on him. We'll be taking him to the Three Broomsticks for dinner, if you have no objections."

McGonagall nods tightly, calling Professor Flitwick through the Floo to tell him to have Julian ready and waiting at the Entrance Hall.

"We'll have him back before curfew, Minnie," I whisper as I lean in to kiss her papery cheek. The muscle twitches beneath my lips, and I know she's fighting a smile herself. She and I have lunch together once a month, and I know that part of her is amused that yet another generation of Marauders is haunting Hogwarts' halls. Between Julian and his Weasley cousins, she's not likely to have much peace for the next few years.

"See that you do," she says, shaking her head fondly as we crowd onto the spiral stairs to leave.

***

"This is all _your_ fault, you know," Pansy says with a tired sigh as she sinks into a chair in front of the fireplace. We've just had dinner with Julian and returned him to school, and she and Theo have stopped by the Manor for a nightcap before heading home.

"You've got three more just like him at home," Draco snorts, pouring us all a generous helping of Firewhisky. "You just want to blame me because that means there's a chance _they_ won't cause this sort of trouble at Hogwarts."

"None of the others are as devious as Julian," Pansy says, opening one eye to glare at him. "And I was talking to Harry. Though I suppose since it was _your_ idea for Julian to live here with the two of you, it's your fault, too."

I scowl at her, holding my hands up in the air.

"How is this _my_ fault?"

"You and your stories about the Marauders and all the pranks they pulled. Honestly, Harry, did you not think he'd want to continue the tradition of rule-breaking?" She shakes her head at me, rolling her eyes. "And giving him that cloak and map – what did you _think_ would happen?"

Though I'd been skeptical about it at first, we had been able to work out a more generous visitation schedule when Julian was a child. I'd initially thought Draco was just being selfish, but after the twins were born, Julian actually asked to come live with us. Pansy had been crushed, but she'd agreed, since it was what he wanted. He'd lived with us during the week, going to be with Pansy and Theo on the weekends and for a month each summer, since he was a child.

"Be fair, Pans," Theo chides, continuing before I can thank him for defending me. "It's Harry's fault he's not a Slytherin, but it's hardly his fault that he has a mischievous streak."

"How is it my fault he's not a Slytherin?" I cry, enjoying the old argument we've been having for the past two years. No one actually cares that Jules is a Ravenclaw; we can all see it's the best fit for him. "If I was influencing him, wouldn't he have been a Gryffindor?"

"Merlin forbid," Draco says, grimacing. "See, Pansy? It could be worse. Our son could have been a Gryffindor instead of a rabble-rousing Ravenclaw."

"Oh, you're incorrigible, all of you," she says as the rest of us dissolve into laughter. "That poor boy Eronson has girl bits, and none of you are the slightest bit concerned about what will happen to him! What if the change is permanent? What if it never wears off?"

"It's not permanent," I say, grinning. "It's still in testing, but George said the longest the effects have ever lasted is four days. So he'll have his dangly bits back by then at the latest."

The three Slytherins in the room are all gaping at me, and I'm rather enjoying being the sneaky one for once.

"Gender Bender, the latest innovation from the lab at Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes," I say, raising an eyebrow at them.

"You! I can't _believe_ you gave our son that potion! I can't believe you encouraged this!" Pansy shrieks, full of indignation. "He could have been _expelled,_ Harry!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say, smirking at them. "I didn't give our son a potion."

Draco's lips curve into a smile as he looks at me, and I know he's caught on. Theo's next, but Pansy's too angry to really listen to my words.

"Where was Julian during lunch today?" Draco asks, his grey eyes dancing with laughter.

"In the library, just like he said he was, I imagine," I say, shrugging. We'd made sure Madam Pince had spotted him at least once, and had McGonagall checked his alibi she'd have known it was solid.

Draco shakes his head, rubbing his palms over his face.

"I thought you were lying to her when you said he didn't have your invisibility cloak," he says, still smirking.

"I would never lie to the Headmistress," I say with mock outrage.

"But you _would_ sneak in and slip an experimental potion to a student?" Theo asks, torn between looking amused and incredulous.

"No one messes with my son," I say, sitting back with a self-satisfied smile as the rest of the room erupts into laughter.

TBC


	57. Chapter 57

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.  
**Author's Note:** Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (_Selly87_) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (_dracosoftie_) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

***

**Author's Note (_Selly87_):** I feel a sense of sadness as I post this last chapter. It's been a rollercoaster of a ride with this story and Harry and Draco from the word go. All the debating whether to write something together or not, the first few ideas that quickly spiralled right out of control, the journey of discovering the characters, of developing the plot of getting excited about each update, the beta'ing, getting ready for posting, the countless reviews we've received, the support, the joy of posting each chapter. It's taken nearly two months to post this chapter and I've had so much fun trailing through all the reviews. I'm sure I answered all of them, however if I didn't I do apologise and feel free to hit me with a stinging hex.

I hope you enjoy this last chapter, it's something special. It was unplanned but because we were looking for a suitable ending we decided this would do. I know I speak for Bru when I say that writing this epic story was truly amazing. I hope to collaborate with Bru again at some point in the future though it might be a good while. Dear Bru has two children (one of them being a newborn), plenty of RL and a husband to juggle. As this story is now finished, I'll be going back to posting on my own profile. I have something in the works which I just need to finish beta'ing and then I shall be sharing it with the world. It's called "Nights In.." and that's about all I'm saying. I'll leave it up to you to make up your mind about it.

You are very welcome to continue sending me ideas for a little spin-off from Draco's POV, which you'd like to read, and I shall see what I can do about it. I'm planning to squeeze as much writing as I can into the last few weeks of the year. There will be some busy times in work, which I'm not looking forward to but I'm taking the rest of my free time to write. Now, as this is rapidly turning into a long ramble, I shall shut up now and leave you all to it. Enjoy this last chapter and thank you so much for your continuous support and wonderful feedback - it meant the world to me and Bru!

Love,  
Selly xxx

***

**Chapter 57:**

**Draco's POV, Julian's 13****th**** Birthday**

"Tell me again, how many people did Jules invite?" I ask as I follow Harry out of the marquee he erected with the help of half of the Weasley family – he point-blank refused to accept my help for the preparations for our son's 13th birthday party after I fell down the last six steps of the Manor's grand staircase three weeks ago and now he won't let me move a finger because I was injured. I've presently given up on convincing him otherwise. Even though it is nice to have him run after me and read my every wish from my lips he's terribly overeacting. It took the Healers in St. Mungo's three hours to take care of my fracture and they released me after a night of agony – Skele-Gro potion sucks big time – but it seems Harry doesn't give a flying fuck as to what the Healers think. He's been walking on eggshells around me ever since the accident, and even though he knows he'll only be getting away with it until after Julian's birthday. He hasn't commented on it, but he knows I'm serious…

"256," Harry replies and, turning on his heels, he faces me. He's smirking and I can't help but chuckle. Julian's been really good in school these last six months, and in return for his academic achievements, and the fact that since he's Ravenclaw's new Seeker none of the other houses stands a chance, we promised him he could invite anyone he wanted for his 13th birthday. In hindsight, maybe we should've drawn the line when he handed us the first 50 invitations, but neither of us thought that Julian would invite nearly three quarters of Hogwarts.

"This is crazy," I shake my head. "Totally and utterly crazy. Have you seen _the Prophet's_ headlines?"

"Yeah, of course," Harry grins. "Quite amusing actually. And what's worse, it's true. You are indulging your son, you are spoiling him rotten."

"_Our_ son," I correct my husband. "He's our son."

"Our son, then," Harry laughs, and drawing me close for a kiss, he mumbles sweet nonsense against my lips, making me chuckle. Despite the huge number of guests arriving at the Manor tomorrow, I'm actually quite looking forward to the event. Julian planned a whole day filled with competitions. Apparently teams will be drawn at random and will have to compete against each other throughout the day… and believe it or not, the winning team will choose seven players they believe to be strong enough to compete against a team of seven adults in a – hopefully fair – Quidditch match. Any adults wishing to take part in the match against the 'teens' may scribble their name onto a piece of parchment and throw it into a goblet that Hermione bewitched. The goblet isn't quite like the Goblet of Fire, but Hermione made an extraordinary effort in creating a harmless copy of the legendary goblet – and all because Jules asked her.

***

"Are you going to give him a chance?" I ask, tugging on Harry's Quidditch uniform even though it sits perfectly, snugly hugging him in all the right places. It's been years since I've seen him in full Quidditch gear, and if it wasn't for the match of The Younglings against The Elders starting in five minutes I'd drag him off to have my wicked way with him. Maybe I can convince him to put the uniform back on later tonight when we can escape into our private chambers. We could charm the bathroom to resemble the locker rooms and make a night out of it… oh just the thought of it is making me dizzy. Harry and I have been far too busy lately and we've hardly had any time for ourselves. I'm itching to just have Harry all to myself again.

Harry jokingly threw a piece of parchment with his name into the cup – when my mother, who Flooed over from France especially for Julian's birthday, commented that she'd love to see her grandson compete against her son-in-law in a fair Quidditch match. Madam Hooch, who is still part-time teaching flying at Hogwarts and supervising all Quidditch practices, offered to referee the match when Julian relayed his idea to her a few weeks ago, and everything's been set up in the Manor grounds.

The game is due to start any minute now, and two massive groups have formed along the sidelines of the pitch. Chairs have been brought out from the marquee, and George produced magical binoculars for everyone wishing to closely follow the action in the air. Lee Jordan, a friend of George's who used to comment on the Quidditch games back in the day when Harry was the Seeker for the Gryffindor team, is doing the deed tonight. He has already taken to the air, alongside Madam Hooch and will shortly announce the teams. After both The Younglings and The Elders have taken their formations, Ron will be releasing the Snitch and then the fun can begin…

"Did I ever give you a chance back in the day?" Harry smiles sweetly, and I chuckle and shake my head.

"I suppose not. Just remember, it's Julian's birthday."

"That's no reason to let him win, Draco. I already gave him his birthday present. He won't be getting another one. This will be a fair game, and if I happen to catch the Snitch before Jules does, well then so be it."

"Good. That's all I wanted to know. I've got a bet going… I want my 50 Galleons back."

"50 Galleons?" Harry stares incredulously.

"You're worth it. Go show Jules who the boss is!" I grin, and grabbing Harry by the collar of his uniform, I pull him close for a searing kiss. "I love you," I whisper, and Harry smiles.

"Love you too."

***

Amidst deafening roars and cheers, I race onto the pitch and throw my arms around Harry the moment his toes touch solid ground. My attack knocks Harry off his broom and we both topple to the ground. He's firmly holding onto the Snitch, which he seized from right in front of Julian after an hour and a half of a nerve-wrecking game. The Elders won by 20 points – and only because Harry caught the Snitch – after The Younglings were in the lead for the majority of the game.

"You did it! You bloody did it!" I squeal, crushing Harry beneath me in my excitement. I've never seen such an exhilarating game of Quidditch – even the last World Cup final was nothing against today's game. The Younglings played excellent Quidditch, but The Elders weren't boring either. Julian and Harry were chasing each other around the pitch for the majority of the game. Neither of the two was falling for the other's tricks, and I nearly had a heart attack when my son attempted a Wronski Feint – something I wasn't even aware he was able to do – but Harry didn't fall for it.

"Let me breathe!" Harry pants, and I grudgingly slide off him but refuse to completely let go of him. My light suit is covered with grass stains and mud but I don't care. Harry won the game and that after not having played professional Quidditch since his days at Hogwarts. The Auror Department has its very own team but Harry isn't playing for them by choice.

"You bloody did it!" I pant, and Harry smiles.

"You're crazy. But I love you." He shakes his head and slightly sitting up he turns his head and watches Julian gracefully land about ten feet away from us. Freeing himself from my iron grip, Harry slowly gets up and walking towards Julian. He bows and hands the Snitch to Julian, who hesitatingly accepts the winged golden ball and closes his fingers around the struggling Snitch to keep it from escaping. "Excellent game, son," Harry smiles, and drawing Jules into a hug, he squeezes him tight.

"Not excellent enough," I hear Julian whisper. "Should've known I'd not stand a chance against you, dad," he adds, and I involuntarily hold my breath. Jules sounds sad but he's taking it like a man. He lost a fair game – against his dad of all people – and he's taken it like a man. There's no temper tantrum, no tears, no insults… he's simply accepting the fact that he did all he could but still lost the game.

"Oh, but you did stand a chance. It was luck that I reached for the Snitch before you did," Harry responds, and dropping to his knees, he takes Julian's hands into his own and squeezes. "You're a fantastic Quidditch player young man and I can't wait to watch you defend the honor of the English in the World Cup."

Shaking my head, I laugh, and walking towards Julian and Harry, I awkwardly hug them both. "Don't fuel his notions about professional Quidditch," I whisper into Harry's ear, and he laughs. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Pansy wipe her eyes as she snuggles into Theo's embrace. Julian loves her and Theo dearly and enjoys any chance he gets to spend with his mother, but it is here at Malfoy Manor that he feels truly at home. He may only be thirteen today, but he knows what he wants… it therefore doesn't surprise me in the slightest that he beckons both Pansy and Theo onto the field and playfully stomps his left foot when they hesitate. Pansy laughs at Julian's pretended tantrum and walking towards us, she wraps her arms around all of us and I pull Theo into the hug as well. Together we – an oddly formed family – wish Julian a happy birthday, and when we lift Julian up into the air, everyone claps and cheers and we all sing for Jules for the umpteenth time since the party started…

**The End**


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